Everlasting Why
by suitablyironicmoniker
Summary: A student of social work & her troubled client. Longing to help him, she suspects & soon learns there is far more beneath the surface than she could have ever guessed. & perhaps her motives for helping are more complicated than she's willing to admit. AU
1. prelude

**_An unexpected emergency necessitates Bella, a mere grad student, perform the intake for a new mental health counseling referral at the Clallam County Community Health Center. _**

**_*Very* alternate universe; given the alternate history and background of the characters, you will not find either Emmett or Rosalie in this story-though other familiar faces will make a belated appearance._**

**_Huge thanks to the multitude of betas/pre-readers who have provided feedback and guidance: TheOldOne, OrdinaryVamp, Shanda, and, most importantly, Elizabeth440._**

**_Any familiar elements belong to S. Meyer. All original plot elements are mine. This disclaimer applies to all future chapters._**

* * *

><p>"<em>It is fate that I am here," George persisted, "but you can call it Italy if it makes you less unhappy."<em>

_A Room with a View_

**prelude**

It is an ocean of emerald, green upon green, unrelieved by the colors found in other forests: the brown of bark and branch, the autumnal hues of red, orange and yellow, or the bright blossoms of sweet flowers. Moss clings to the trees, obscuring any hint of brown, a velvet curtain draping, hiding, muting. Evergreens need no blooms to reproduce, the umber of their cones hidden within the drooping boughs; even after falling, their color is lost amid the needles and ferns carpeting the forest floor.

The caramel of the fawn is a dusky mark in this sea of green, soft not only in color but in texture; the downy pelt seems to signify the divide between it and the forest. Fleeting, blood-filled creature, muscle beneath fur, usually a stark contrast to the immobile, silent trees.

Only the fawn is not moving. Its posture is graceful, slender legs delicately extended as if, were the creature only upright, it might still lope through the towering trees, ducking amongst the ferns, the only evidence of its passing the bruised clover trodden by sharp hooves.

Its narrow head, though, is at an unnatural angle, a garish stripe of red showing where its throat lays open. Standing near, the boy is as still as the unmoving deer, as still as the immense conifers surrounding him. It is an unnatural stillness that renders difficult determining…is he alive? Is he blood-filled and fleeting, a creature of muscle and sinew destined to seem but a second in the long life of these woods?

There is a sound, a twig snapping, the tramp of feet. The boy does not shift, does not flee, simply staring down at the fawn as if made of stone. The sounds grow closer; there is enough time to retreat, to evade notice, but he does not move.

They are upon him shortly. Garbed in the bright colors of day hikers, their clothing marks them as foreign interlopers against the green of the forest, the fabric artificial and gleaming even in the dulled light that filters through the moss draped canopy. Loud gasps are soon followed by demands that the boy not move. It is the first time he does so, but it is only to lift his head, watching their outraged reactions with a blank expression. A cell phone is retrieved, a call is made. The man stoops to the deer while the woman averts eyes filled with tears.

Soon, a ranger is traipsing towards the motley group: the two hikers, flushed and upset; the still fawn, all concern gone; and the silent boy, whose only intimation that he is like the hikers and not the fawn is the shifting of his gaze.

"No hunting license, I bet—isn't the season regardless. And with a knife? Might be considered animal cruelty…" There is a storm of words, of noise. The group breaks apart, the hikers returning to their trail with heads cast down while the boy walks before the defensive ranger, posture stiffly upright, his hand trained on the taser at his belt.

At the trail head, a wide expanse of concrete buffers the forest from the highway, the paint meant to divide one car from another faded and broken beneath the relentless rain of this region. A cruiser is already waiting, the officer behind the wheel slamming out of the car when he sees who the ranger is escorting. He has no qualms about handcuffing the boy, weariness at seeing his face again mixing with discomfort at being in his unsettling presence. Pretending bravado, he puts a hand to the boy's shoulder to force him to stoop into the back seat. He immediately regrets the action, suppressing a shudder as he rounds the car and returns to his position behind the wheel.

"You're in a lot of trouble, kid," he states into the rearview mirror.

It is the first time the boy reacts to his surroundings, meeting the wavering gaze of the officer, his golden eyes narrowing as a broad smile curves his lips.


	2. New Life

_Here beginneth the New Life._

_Where Angels Fear to Tread_

**one**

There are only highways here. Narrow lanes in shades of gray, wide enough for two cars, the only indication of civilization are the signs in faded white signaling a reduced speed limit. To fault someone for failing to note these signs would seem unfair, but it is one of the few sources of revenue for the municipality.

The wide low building set back from Highway 110 would be very easy to mistakenly pass. Its pigeon gray color mimics the concrete lot separating its front door from the highway, the highway itself, and the perpetual gloom of the sky. Despite this drab appearance, it is not neglected; the plate glass windows facing the sparsely passing traffic gleam as if cleaned every night, the lot free of debris.

Its function is concealed until one reaches the door, the single glass pane noting the hours in a simple script. Beneath this, at the bottom edge of the pane, 'Clallam County Community Health Center' attempts to avoid notice, the letters faint, the font minuscule. Beyond the door, the lobby is equally neat but for a few childrens books scattered across the Berber carpet. Angular chairs upholstered in red perch beneath the windows, two potted palms drooping in opposite corners. Behind the reception desk, a woman slouches and stares at her computer screen, her expression blank. She is young, with a high pony tail of inky black hair that falls down her back like a rope, her tawny complexion indicating her background is not European.

To her right there is a wide corridor leading into the recesses of the building. The Berber here gives way to linoleum that, despite the glossy wax coating its surface, cannot conceal a mass of scuff marks and discoloration. A row of doors line the left wall; three contain glass panes that have been coated with paper while one is narrow and unadorned.

At this moment, one of the doors bursts open, a heavy set woman hurrying with surprising speed toward the lobby. She stops short of the Berber/linoleum divide, raises her fist to the unremarkable narrow door and impatiently knocks. She opens it without waiting for a response.

"We've got a 7105. Miguel went off his meds." Her voice is brisk and to the point, as if accustomed to eschewing small talk. "Carly's got a black eye, probably a broken nose. Janet's trying to keep her eight o'clock from getting involved in the commotion. Can you do the intake for her nine o'clock?"

There is only the briefest hesitation before a soft voice replies, "Yes, of course."

"Thanks." Her gratitude is cursory, the word barely audible to the person of whom she made the request as she is already returning from whence she came. Pulling open the door she had exited only a moment before, her attention has already returned to the crisis. "An ambulance is on the way, just keep the ice—"

Her voice is cut off by the closing of the door.

A slender figure soon emerges, hesitating in the corridor. She is a study in contrasts that are likely not deliberate. Garbed in unassuming khakis and a white thermal shirt, the pale palette of her clothing mirrors the ivory translucence of her skin. Dark eyes and long brown hair appear like chocolate against cream, vivid and compelling as she hesitates in the corridor.

Finally, as if gaining some resolve, she steps into the lobby and approaches the reception desk. Her manner is tentative indicating that, despite the fact that she appears to be close in age to the receptionist, they are not friends. "Hello, Maria," she begins, a formality that is mostly spoken to gain the girl's attention. "There's a nine o'clock? A new referral?"

Maria does not look away from the computer screen, her voice as flat as her expression when she replies. "Not here yet. And his file never came from the court office."

The white-garbed figure breathes deeply, as if accustomed to, but not any less frustrated by this piece of information. She stoops, reaching into a drawer near Maria's feet and retrieving a clipboard with a single sheet of paper. As she straightens, she flinches.

The boy has arrived without her notice, standing before the reception desk with his hands at his sides. He does not address her, looking down at the receptionist. "My name is Edward Cullen. I'm here for a nine o'clock appointment."

It is the first instance that the receptionist's expression has shifted, smiling so brightly that her even white teeth show. "You're all checked in." There is the smallest inclination of her dark head. "Bella will be seeing you today."

Bella has yet to recover from her surprise. She is attempting to convince herself this is only the result of having failed to see him enter or cross the lobby, but a slow sense of disquiet she cannot fully pinpoint spirals and grows within. In many ways, he is like dozens of clients who have passed through these walls and whose files she has examined. She is accustomed to the baleful glares and permanent frowns, and even the pale skin that sometimes indicates a latent drug problem. Though his skin is almost chalky, his pallor absolutely ghostly, he lacks the sores and barely healed scars that tend to indicate a methamphetamine habit. His black hoodie and loose jeans show his youth but his posture strikes her as wrong in a way she cannot articulate. It is more that she can recognize how he does _not_ stand like a teenager: shoulders hunched, elbows jutting out, defensive, unsure.

When she offers a greeting, her voice and gaze are steady, her surprise suppressed. As in the corridor, when she was informed of the need to step in at the last moment, she has managed to quickly recover her composure. Whether this is because she is genuinely calm or simply skilled in hiding her emotions is difficult to know.

"Hello." He does not respond but she is not perturbed, her expression blandly welcoming. "If you'll follow me." It takes only seconds to reach the narrow door she'd exited earlier, the clipboard clasped to her chest. A glimmer of uncertainty reveals itself as she opens the doors and pauses on the threshold. "I'm sorry it's so—so small."

She looks over her shoulder but his expression is no more or less stormy, black eyes angry as he shrugs dismissively. Bella briefly wonders how someone so fair could have eyes so dark, a color she has only seen in the Makah and Quileute youths she tutors on the reservation on weekends.

But this is not the question she's allowed to ask. Instead, as she sidles around the desk to her chair and he settles on the stool opposite, she prepares to ask him for the most basic of information—details that would have been provided in the file the court office failed to deliver.

Before she can begin, he speaks, his tone unmistakably derogatory, "So in addition to making you prepare your own materials," he glances down at the clipboard, "they've also put you in a closet?"

Despite her earlier ability to appear calm, a faint flush steals along her throat and up to her cheeks. "I'm a grad student." To her dismay, there's an edge to her voice that she's usually much better at curtailing when dealing with rude teenagers. "And I'm filling in for Janet, who I'm sure you'll meet with for your next appointment." She drops her eyes to the sheet, doggedly returning to the questions. "Do you have a middle name?"

"Of course," he replies with condescension. "It's Anthony."

She is temporarily tempted to tell him that many people don't have middle names but realizes that to engage him is contrary to all of her training. "Your date of birth?"

"June twentieth."

She does not acknowledge that he is being difficult, her features smooth and unaffected. "The year?"

"I'm seventeen."

Quickly calculating, she scratches the date onto the sheet. Before she can ask the next question, he asks, "How old are you?"

She raises her eyes from the page, gazing at him from beneath long lashes. Though her expression remains benign, there is a hint of strained patience. "I don't think that's appropriate."

He appears not to hear her, squinting and lifting a pale hand to his chin in mock thought. "A graduate student, eh? So at least twenty-two." He opens his unnaturally dark eyes and considers her. "But no more than…twenty-five. Twenty-six would be pushing it."

While Bella's demeanor remains calm, no amount of self-control can stop the pulse of blood beneath her skin, the roses in her cheeks slowly darkening. A wolfish smile crosses his lips but the only indication that he's affected her, other than her blush, is a slight tightening of her fingers around her pen. She allows several beats to pass then asks in a cool voice, "Your address?"

A flash of a frown gives away his disappointment but he answers the question in a bored tone of voice. "And what were the charges?" she continues.

Edward is silent, dark eyes dropping to his lap. He leans back, his shoulders nearly touching the door behind him in the minuscule space, his thumb restlessly circling the tip of his forefinger. Bella waits, observing him as she has been taught, watching his body language, looking for nonverbal cues. In doing so, she cannot help absorbing his appearance, his long limbs folded gracefully upon the stool, the ruddy brown of his hair, long enough that the tips of his ears are hidden. His angular features have a precise symmetry, his lips slightly full with the faintest tint of pink. She realizes he would likely be considered attractive by girls his own age, especially were he inclined to smile or be at all pleasant.

At least two full minutes pass before Bella speaks again. "The information will be available in your file."

"But it hasn't been delivered," he promptly replies without looking up.

"No." Shifting tactics, "Why do you think you're here?"

"I was told to come." He appears diffident, raising his eyes but only to their surroundings, as if pretending she is not there. "This really is a ridiculously small room."

Bella allows him to change the topic, wiggling the pen in her hand as she looks around the room in concert with him. "I don't need much," she replies conversationally.

His gaze darts her way but he responds as if her effort at drawing him out isn't suspiciously obvious. "That's not an ordinary perspective."

"What do you mean?" she turns her gaze to him, studying his expression.

"Most people like to think their needs are modest but I can't imagine anyone in this space who wouldn't bitch and complain…there's no window, your desk looks like it sat in the back of a bar for twenty years, and you don't even have the proper allotment of office supplies."

Bella's eyes widen momentarily, attempting to take in this flurry of words without reacting—to the swearing, to the intimation that he's illegally been in bars, or his strangely robust vocabulary. Seeing he's caught her off guard, he lazily scratches his chin, kindly allowing her a moment to compose herself.

"I can't really speak for other people," she finally answers, her voice quiet. There is a great deal more contained in those words, which he senses but does not understand.

Without the means of pursuing this topic, he instead snaps, "Well, I can and they're mostly selfish assholes."

A small smile flits across Bella's lips before she can stop herself and he sees he's amused her without intending to. It only fouls his mood further and he leans forward on the stool, shoving his hands into the kangaroo pocket of his hoodie. "This line of work, you must be an optimist—you think the best of people. That with a little help, even the lowest of the low can shine."

Bella can't respond to his diatribe, caught off guard by the sheer bitterness that's pouring out of him, her mouth slightly agape as she regards him on the other side of her desk. Even more astonishing, he's addressing a fundamental aspect of her character that she rarely allows herself to examine, his insight astonishing. "Let me tell you that even those you think are good, the people who will never have a reason to walk into this place, they are just as execrable as the worst case you've encountered."

Between further evidence of his unlikely vocabulary and his violent antipathy, Bella is unable to hide her confusion, a frown settling upon her brow. Regaining herself, she asks, "Do you have a difficult time at school?" It seems the likeliest explanation for his disgust with humanity; she knows how cruel teenagers can be and if he engenders that sense of disquiet in others as he does in her, he might be ostracized by even the kindest and most accepting of peers.

Edward's short bark of laughter is her only response. Bella has no idea if he is ridiculing her or if she's hit the nail on the head. She tries again, "Do you talk to your parents about how you feel…about people?"

Edward casts his gaze at his lap again. His voice is tired when he replies. "My father…is like you."

"Like me?" She does not succeed in hiding her disbelief, pointing her pen at herself with surprise.

His eyes lift to her face and she is caught off guard by the surge of sympathy that fills her chest at seeing the utter weariness in his gaze. "An optimist. He sees the best in people…He tries to find—" He pauses as if thinking twice about his wording, then tiredly finishes the sentence. "Meaning."

A silence ensues but it is not uncomfortable; he is introspective, gaze downcast, and she is intently thinking, a fine line between her brows. When Bella speaks, her tone is firm, brooking no mockery of the question, "Do you ever think about hurting yourself?"

Edward's eyes lift, his features wry. Bella's expression remains set, her stare unwavering as she waits for him to answer. There is the faintest amusement in his tone but she instinctively senses that it is aimed at himself rather than her. "I can't."

The two words are honest and she finds herself responding to the sentiment rather than the meaning; it is only later that she will reflect on the visit and realize no other client has responded in this manner. Lying in bed, staring at the faint circle of moonlight cast upon the floor boards, she will whisper to herself, "He should have said, 'I won't.'"

But in the moment, she is simply relieved, nodding her head sharply, her gaze returning to the intake sheet. "You're not from here." His statement interrupts whatever line of questioning she is planning to pursue, brown eyes slightly startled as she looks up from the paper. The faintest frown crosses her brow before her expression smoothes.

"No, I am." She knows there is no purpose in allowing him to probe about her, but cannot resist correcting him.

A line forms between his dark brows, considering her speculatively. "Prodigal daughter returned?"

"Hardly," she snorts before she can think about her response, then blushes at being so easily maneuvered into talking about herself. It is almost worth it, though, for the faint smile that crosses his lips, the expression entirely lacking in mockery.

"Then why are you here?" he asks, his lids lowering. His tone makes it clear that he cannot imagine anyone choosing to live in Forks, derision returning to his demeanor.

Bella puts an end to this line of questioning, gazing at him levelly. "Why are you here?"

He laughs sharply, replying, "This is one of the rainiest places in the continental United States."

She frowns, unable to hide her confusion. "That's hardly why anyone chooses to live here, though," she speaks slowly, her words measured.

"No," Edward agrees, his dark eyes glittering with some hidden amusement. He leans forward. "Maybe I'll tell you if you give me a hint as to why you're in this godforsaken place."

Bella cannot restrain her sigh, her gaze dropping to the intake sheet again. It is only partially complete and they are running out of time. She allows a minute to pass and then another, before finally looking up. Her voice is soft when she speaks. "My father is from Forks."

Edward leans his head back, the barest hum of satisfaction vibrating in his throat, gazing at her from beneath lowered lids. Bella successfully stifles the urge to squirm under his appraising eyes but can feel her cheeks growing warm again. His cool tone sends the blood plummeting from her face, his eyes cutting away, as if chastising her. "You shouldn't bargain with me." His gaze momentarily lifts. "It will only end badly."

A mix of emotions cross her face: anger, chagrin, embarrassment. But she manages to triumph over them all, her features taking on the look of porcelain as she stares at his still figure across the desk. The only betrayal of her feelings is the deliberately flat tone of voice she uses to ask the remaining questions, rarely lifting her gaze from the page, the scratch of the pen the only noise to accompany his equally flat responses.

Bella's relief when the appointment is over can only be held at bay until the door closes behind him; she then sags in the chair, shoulders dropping, an air of defeat seeming to fill the small room.

After a moment, her gaze moves to the paper still resting on the desk before her. She attacks it as if it's a living thing, pen scrawling across the sections she could not complete with the client in the room, noting his lack of suicidal ideation and marking his drug use as unknown. Strangely, even after every box is completed, text of some sort filling each space, she continues to stare down at the page. Finally, with a deep breath, she shoves the paper and clipboard into the top drawer of the desk before returning her attention to the patient files she'd been reviewing when she was interrupted.

Distraction marks her movements, a finger lifting to her hair, tucking loose strands behind her ear, the pen rising to her mouth, nibbling on the cap. She shifts in the seat every few seconds, her eyes returning to the same piece of text again and again. Finally, after nearly an hour has passed, her figure settles as she becomes absorbed in reviewing the record, her only motion the turning of the pages.

Bella is not interrupted over the course of the day. The lunch hour passes without anyone knocking on the narrow door, but neither does she rise from her chair and seek anyone out when her appetite finally reminds her of the time. Wordlessly, she pulls a granola bar, a stick of string cheese and an apple from a backpack she has stowed beneath the desk, silently eating as she continues to read.

With no ability to note the passage of time in the windowless space, it is only when she hears the lead social worker's gruff voice calling a farewell to the receptionist that she shakes her head, her concentration broken. When she emerges from the small office, her backpack hitched over her shoulder, the corridor is dark. A dim light shines from the lobby, barely illuminating her profile, the resigned set of her lips. This is not the first time she has been the last to leave the outpatient center, glancing towards the single bulb glowing above the entrance, her gaze inscrutable. She turns, her pale figure swallowed by the darkness of the corridor. Seconds later, the slam of the fire door indicates her exit.

Outside, she quickly crosses to the only vehicle parked behind the center, hefting the backpack through the door before launching herself into the driver's seat. The truck is cold, her breath a visible puff of white in the gloom of the cab. She starts the engine, rubbing her hands together briskly in an attempt to warm them. She reaches towards the radio dial but, after a moment, lets her fingers fall away. After all, having sat in silence for most of the day, the noise would simply remind her of how often she is alone.

After another lingering moment, her gaze seemingly fixed on the darkness of the woods beyond the windshield, she turns the wheel.

The long stretch of highway is empty, the headlights illuminating only trees, the mix of evergreens that densely blanket this region. There is the occasional flash of a white sign indicating the speed limit, or a yellow sign warning of the deer that populate these forests. She briefly thinks of the crosswalk warnings that litter the University of Washington campus, the stick figure of man and woman, arm in arm; there is no need for such signage in Clallam County.

At this hour, everyone is home eating or preparing dinner. Despite the blow to the local economy of shrinking mills and less logging, the people here are still family oriented. And of course, more importantly, there is little else to do.

The truck eventually turns onto narrower streets, winding through the town nearly to the northern border. A gravel drive waits, the nearly bald wheels gritting through the fine rocks, spitting them towards the cracked concrete path running parallel to the drive. The engine cuts off, Bella's slight figure climbing down from the cab with her backpack slung over her shoulder.

She approaches the dark house, her thoughts unwillingly turning to those families centered around dining room tables throughout the town. The cold, quiet house offers no greeting when she opens the door, striding quickly towards the kitchen at the back of the main floor, a light flicked on with a sense of urgency. She drops the backpack onto the kitchen table, her posture indicating she is somehow at a loss. After several minutes, she turns to the fridge, pulling out vegetables to cut up and ingredients to mix together.

Only the faint hum of the fridge joins the sound of her knife hitting the cutting board, the brief rush of water filling a pot. The living room remains dark, the large television silent, the ancient stereo next to it functioning only as a clock, the numbers blinking with the passing of the minutes.

Bella eats her dinner alone at the dining room table, her eyes blankly resting on the backpack, her expression empty. Her features are smooth but there is no contentment in her gaze, or any indication that she's tasting, much less enjoying, the food she's eating. When she has finished the mix of vegetables and sliced chicken breast, she shucks the remaining food into a glass container, then stands at the sink cleaning her plate, fork, and knife. After drying the plate, she opens the cupboard to place it inside; there is a moment in which she hesitates, her expression nearly one of sadness as she considers the stacks of dishes that remain unused: cups, mugs, dessert dishes, bowls and saucers.

She slams the cupboard with more force than she intends, finally retreating to the darkened living room. She reaches for the switch of the lamp next to the armchair, memory drawing her hand through the darkness to the cord. The light is warm and yellow, soft upon her features, hiding the momentary strain around her eyes. Bella reaches for the well-thumbed book resting on the table next to the chair.

In this manner, she passes the remainder of the evening.


	3. House & Heart

_The ground floor and the upper floor of that battered house are alike deserted...just as in a dying body all life retires to the heart._

_Where Angels Fear to Tread_

**two**

The knock on the door is, as always, cursory. There is only the faintest hint of surprise in Bella's expression when the lead social worker fully steps into the minuscule room rather than barking a request through the crack. Her features instantly smooth, however, an unconscious reaction to the mix of consternation, willfulness and confusion dancing over the woman's face.

"So, Swan…"

Having been instructed to give clients and patients time to grow comfortable with revealing their issues and histories, Bella does not respond for several seconds. Her dark gaze gives nothing away when she finally breaks the awkwardly lengthening silence, her tone courteous. "Yes, Margery?"

Margery takes yet another moment to speak. Everything about her demeanor indicates discomfort, a feeling she is clearly not accustomed to. Her hands are shoved in the pockets of her jeans, dark head bowed as if avoiding Bella's gaze. Her voice, usually brisk, is gruffly mutinous when she speaks. "The Cullens called for a follow-up appointment and specifically requested you."

The porcelain of Bella's features cracks, her lips parting in surprise. "But—but I don't have my LSW yet."

Margery looks up, her brows low, determination evident in her steady gaze. "We can have Janet sign for his hours."

The faintest frown crosses Bella's brow, hinting at her confusion before she asks, "But she'll supervise the visits?" Had it not been an emergency, the intake of a new patient would not have been done without the presence of a practised professional in the room. It is clear she can't imagine how she can continue to see the troubled teenager on her own.

Margery's voice is gruff, her gaze direct, "You know we don't have the staff coverage for that." Her bark of laughter is false, forced. "You think you'd have so many case files to audit if the caseload wasn't so ridiculous?"

Bella is at a loss, her lips moving though no words emerge. Margery squats down to the stool, elbows braced on her knees, leaning forward as she shifts into a placating manner. "We have to use whatever advantage we have."

Bella's cheeks abruptly redden, the blood rushing from her throat to her face, eyes falling to her desk. They both know what Margery is referencing, that Bella is not so much older than this particular client, that she is not unattractive, and that, even were she utterly plain, it is quite normal for someone who has been disregarded and dismissed by everyone they know to develop an attachment to the one person who expresses interest in them.

"After one visit…?" Bella murmurs, voicing her awareness of this cliché among social workers, case managers, therapists, and the people they serve…but dubious given there has been no time for an inclination to form.

Margery simply shrugs one large shoulder, the hood of her purple sweatshirt shifting with the movement. "Who knows?" She is a woman who rarely pays attention to that which is of not immediate importance. This ability to remain unruffled has served her well for many years; she will not react unless a situation demands it.

She adds, her voice grim, "At least he's coming this time."

Bella is not able to restrain the swiftness with which she responds, her curiosity revealing itself. "He was supposed to come before?"

"Truancy," Margery simply explains. "He missed nearly two months of school last year." Margery's gaze is frank. "Shouldn't be too surprising he was a no-show for every appointment."

"Didn't the court..." Bella's voice trails away, knowing how little control the court has—in the rare instances that judges have the time to ensure their orders are carried out. She has lost count of the number of times she was prepared to observe a session and the client simply didn't show. Margery's responding shrug and huff of laughter acknowledge this as well, her gaze wry as she contemplates Bella across the scarred desk.

"Besides, his foster father is some big time doctor at the hospital. Even if the kid wasn't already excelling in his classes, I'm sure his dad would just have to write a note to get it all taken care of." She laughs again, failing to notice how Bella's gaze has fallen, her features shadowed as she looks down at her lap. "So you see," Margery goes on, "we have to take advantage of any interest this kid shows in wanting to be here. God knows he needs the help."

Bella's hesitation is due to the mix of emotions she cannot hide, swirling across features determinedly turned to her lap. The furrow of her brow indicates confusion, lips thin with disapproval and concern, intense curiosity widening her eyes. There is so much she doesn't understand, including her own consuming desire to know more. She has observed dozens of sessions, volunteered at crisis centers and discussed hundreds of cases and never failed to remain removed, detached. This curiosity is foreign to her and therefore worrying.

Her voice is quiet when she finally speaks. "Do you know why he was ordered to be seen now?"

Margery shakes her head, her cap of dark hair unmoving as another bark of laughter escapes her mouth. "I swear the court forgets their own decisions." The unspoken thought is apparent in both of their expressions, Margery wry and Bella saddened, that the court could also care less whether those decisions are executed.

Margery leans back, her wide shoulders straightening with the expectation that their conversation will soon be over…and Bella's agreement voiced. Bella bites her lip, still hesitant, her complexion paling as the seconds tick by. She knows she must answer, she knows she must agree but she cannot fight the premonition that she is acquiescing to far more than either she or Margery realize.

"Okay," her voice is weak, barely above a whisper, but the word is spoken, forced between unwilling lips. Margery's smile is instantaneous and broad; she plants her hands on her heavy thighs before rearing up to her full height.

"Excellent!" she proclaims as if Bella's discomfort is entirely forgotten, turning to the door with her mind already elsewhere. "Maria knows to give his file to you the minute it's delivered."

Bella cannot help sagging in her chair before the door has fully closed behind the lead social worker, unable to conceal her defeat—defeat that the decision had clearly been made and communicated prior to consulting with her. Her agreement is a given at best, and incidental at worst.

The door has clicked shut by the time her head falls to her hands, fighting the upheaval evident in her frame, her features, the trembling of the slim fingers covering her eyes. Somehow, she recovers, breathing deeply as she returns to the folders she has been auditing since her assignment to this role, gaze distant as she struggles to focus on the text.

The hours pass in the same manner as the day before, the week before, examining files that often tell similar stories: neglect, abuse, broken homes, domestic strife. The single bulb above illuminates the pages beneath her fingers, reading case after case in the near forgotten space that is her office. Perhaps it is Margery's request that compels her to leave earlier than is her custom, ears unusually attuned to the sounds beyond the narrow door, rising from her desk the moment she hears a car engine firing in the back lot.

Maria is locking up as she slips into the corridor, lifting a hand in a hesitant wave that the dark-haired receptionist fails to see or chooses not to acknowledge. Bella's reaction is not one of hurt or dismay—or even embarrassment; instead, a faint resignation crosses her pale features, as if failing to connect is simply a part of her day.

The sky is still faintly light when her truck crunches into the drive of the little house, its narrow two stories seeming to crouch among the surrounding trees. Limbs of pine and fir sweep before the windows and drape along the cedar tiles of the roof, needles perpetually mixing with the grass and moss that lap around the house. Bella knows they should be cut back, that Charlie had always worried about the old growth forests withstanding wind storms…

The memory is so abrupt that she forgets where she is, the key in her hand set to open the door nearly falling from suddenly loose fingers, feet planted as if frozen upon the front porch. His expression was so vivid, brow furrowed, lips slightly twisted beneath his mustache as he contemplated the likelihood of any of the surrounding trees crashing to the ground. She hadn't known how to respond, simply shrugging at her father's worries, gaze falling to the book in her lap.

Sharply shaking her head, Bella's eyes regain focus, fingers tightening over the key as she shoves it into the lock. Slipping into the house, she firmly shuts the door behind her and turns on her heel…but can move no farther. Her eyes squeeze shut as she quickly realizes she is fighting a losing battle in trying to brush off the encroaching memories. For she is surrounded by her father's things, the worn recliner he'd sat in to watch games, the stained coffee table where he often ate his dinners and where his beer was always perched, and even the few photos scattered on the walls. Though they are faded and yellowed with age, they are no less representative of his life: a shining trout held triumphantly aloft, squatting next to a fire while camping with his best friend, and a single shot of Bella, stiff and uncomfortable in the school portrait taken her senior year, shortly before she'd moved to Washington permanently to attend college.

The thump of her backpack hitting the floor boards does not break her reverie, gaze distant as she drifts from the brief foyer into the living room, caught in the web of remembrance…yet the memories are so few, so brief, snapshots that fail to provide a full story, their relationship so distant.

Bella's hands fumble for the back of the sofa, its worn fabric matching that of the recliner, a few small pillows in playful plaid failing to brighten the décor. She knows they were sewn by her mother before Renee left, their down filler now so limp that they resemble pancakes rather than pillows. Bella's chin drops, brow furrowing as the image of Charlie with one of these pillows wedged beneath his head fills her vision, snoring softly on the sofa.

They may as well have been strangers, her visits only growing shorter as she'd transitioned into adolescence—though not because she'd been preoccupied with friends and boys and typical high school distractions, but because Renee grew comfortable with leaving her home on her own…and it had seemed just as easy to be alone for the summer than spend several awkward weeks with a father she hardly knew. So while she'd tended to spend the entire summer with Charlie through her childhood, by the time she was fifteen, the visit was no more than two weeks—and motivated by obligation rather than desire.

The University of Washington's lauded social work program rather than proximity to family had been the driver bringing her to the northwest permanently. Even after she'd decided to save money by forgoing visiting her mother in Phoenix during breaks, she'd rarely done more than drive down to Forks for a long weekend.

Bella's head lifts, dark eyes wide and shining with tears she does not want to fall. Her hands tighten momentarily on the back of the sofa, the fabric soft and pilled beneath her fingers, before she shoves away, turning to the narrow staircase behind her. There are three closed doors at the top, the small landing dim until she throws one wide, disappearing inside. Soon, she is clattering back down the steps, her feet clad in tennis shoes rather than flats. She rushes as if she's being chased, hurrying through the back door without bothering to bolt it behind her, hair wild as she darts into the dark woods surrounding the house.

Her brow remains furrowed as her feet find their way along the narrow path, shoving her hands in her pockets as she brushes past drooping branches and overgrown ferns. Though her unshed tears subside, her gaze is frustrated, her inner turmoil apparent.

Had they not been most alike? Quiet, perhaps shy…though more often considered reserved or taciturn—as if there was no need to talk rather than being afraid to do so. Content to be alone, absorbed in books…or fishing and sports. No, she knew she was not like Renee. Bright and impulsive, her mother rushed from experience to experience as if life were a buffet and she had to sample every dish; from yoga communes in Taos to kindergarten teaching in Flagstaff, from acting as a forest fire lookout at Cibola National Forest for the summer, to driving over the border into Mexico on a lark, they had bounced around the southwest without any goal or plan…until Bella begged to settle down for the duration of high school.

If she and Charlie had been most similar, why had their relationship been so perfunctory, nearly strangers to one another? Bella drags a hand over her face as she pushes deeper into the woods, the smell of damp earth and rich green trees all around. She partly knows the answer, that their similarities are likely what made it so difficult to connect—content to be alone, to be silent, with no strong need for more than one or two close friends. A sob catches in her throat with the knowledge that she does not have even that. All she has is sadness and guilt and regret that she did not reach out to the one person with whom she had the most in common…and now he's gone.

The call had come late in the afternoon, the ring of her cell phone an annoyance as she struggled with grocery bags and her keys at the door of her apartment. She had rushed inside the moment the lock clicked open, dropping the heavy bags onto the kitchen counter before digging the ringing cell phone out of her bag. "Hello?"

"Bella, it's Jake. Jacob Black."

"Jake?" She had been confused, frowning as she glanced down at her phone and saw her father's number on the screen. "Why are you calling from my dad's house?"

"It was really sudden, Bella." His deep voice had faltered and she had found herself staggering, knees weak with the realization of why it was him on the phone, a childhood acquaintance she had not spoken to in years. "There was nothing anyone could do."

Bella abruptly stops on the darkening path, her breathing ragged as she turns in place, blind with tears again. Her rain jacket flares out with the motion, nearly catching on the brambles around her. She cannot see, her eyes filled with tears, her mind filled with the memory of the dark figures all garbed in black, standing silently around the hole in the ground. Two men unfamiliar to her had begun a steady beat upon a Quileute drum, the rhythm somehow matching the frantic pace of her pulse. A hand on her wrist had motioned her forward and she'd glanced down, confused, at her father's best friend Billy Black—before realizing she was expected to throw a fistful of dirt onto the coffin.

They had told her he looked peaceful, discovered hours later by another fisher as his boat drifted among the reeds and cat tails of Lake Pleasant…but Bella can only imagine him gray and lifeless, staring blankly with unseeing eyes at the sky. "Even if someone had been with him, the doctor's don't think it would have mattered." Harry Clearwater's voice was raspy with age, his callused hand heavy on her shoulder. She had nodded, unable to cry, unable to absorb the reality that Charlie was gone.

As the memories fade, she begins to calm, the trembling of her hands lessening as she dashes the tears from her cheeks. Dusk has colored the sky over the course of her frantic rush through the woods, the questioning call of owls mixing with other forest sounds: the steady drip of water in the distance, the rustle of branches brushing against one another high above on the wind, the furtive scratchings of small creatures beneath fern fronds and bracken. She grimaces at her futile effort to outrun her ghosts, turning in the direction of the house with the knowledge that it would be far too easy to get lost among these trees…and there is no one here to notice her absence.

A strange sensation overcomes her as her feet slowly find their way home, shuffling through the mix of needles, moldering leaves, and pebbles that carpet the path. She knows she must be alone, that her neighbors with their small children or frail hips would be unlikely to be on this path at such a late, chilly hour. But she cannot deny the feeling she is being watched, goose bumps raising on her arms beneath the sleeves of her jacket, her heart tightening in her chest.

Bella slows and then stops entirely, peering into the dark forest with a confused gaze. "I must be losing my mind," she murmurs before continuing on, her feet moving more quickly, returning determinedly to her father's house.


	4. Pass Through the World

Thank you so much for all of your reviews. When I catch the thread, I am providing snippets of future chapters on A Different Forest (adifferentforest[dot]com).

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><p><em>I never expect anything to happen now, and so I am never disappointed. You would be surprised to know what my great events are. Going to the theatre yesterday, talking to you now — I don't suppose I shall ever meet anything greater. I seem fated to pass through the world without colliding with it or moving it — and I'm sure I can't tell you whether the fate's good or evil. I don't die — I don't fall in love. And if other people die or fall in love they always do it when I'm just not there.<em>

_Where Angels Fear to Tread_

**three**

When Bella realizes the pen clasped between her thumb and forefinger is wiggling again, she sucks in a breath and abruptly slaps it down. Frowning, she stares at the innocent ballpoint as if it is at fault for her anxious fidgeting, lips thin as she internally berates herself.

She cannot be feeling anticipation. It is merely…nervousness. Nervous to again encounter the unsettling boy with the too large vocabulary and uncanny insightfulness, black eyes watchful and knowing. She tells herself it is simply inexperience, that her involvement in social work to this point has been all theory and no practice…besides which, given her interaction with people who haven't been court ordered to see mental health professionals is near zero, it's no wonder her heart is racing, cheeks warm with a tell-tale flush.

Her hand darts out, recapturing the pen as she struggles to return her attention to the patient file she had been reviewing seconds before. She refuses to acknowledge that this is perhaps the twentieth time she has attempted to read the same sentence, forcing her gaze to focus on the small type. Just then, a swift knock barely precedes the opening of the door, the pen shooting across the small room as her fingers tighten into a surprised, nervous fist.

But it does not fall to the floor. Bella blinks, confused, as Edward bows ever so slightly in greeting and extends a pale hand across her desk. A faint smirk dances upon his lips as his fingers fan open, revealing the plastic ballpoint resting in his palm. She is trying to form a question, wondering how he could have caught the pen when she did not see him dive to grab it—but she is distracted by how quickly he draws his hand away, her finger tips barely brushing his palm before he has snatched his arm back, shoving his fists into the pockets of his hoodie.

This reaction centers her, reminding her of the reason for his presence. Ample studies have shown that infants and children suffering neglect often have strong reactions to being touched, unaccustomed to affection or contact—and unable to accustom themselves to it even when surrounded by a loving, adoptive family. Bella takes a deep breath, recalling her purpose in the face of this reality. "How are you today?" she calmly asks.

His gaze lifts to the ceiling as he settles onto the stool opposite her desk. "Such a uniform greeting," he murmurs. Bella fights the frown that is trying to reclaim her brow, wondering how it is possible he can unruffle her again so swiftly.

Her tone is level when she replies but there is a challenge in her words. "What would you prefer?"

Edward's gaze abruptly shifts from the ceiling to her face, unnervingly steady in his stare. "Did you know 'how do you do' was once considered a major indicator of whether the speaker was upper class? And that the proper response was 'how do you do' as opposed to the entirely deceptive 'fine'?"

"Do you find formalities deceptive?" She is distracted from the meaning of his words by the struggle to maintain eye contact, refusing to be the first to blink. His eyes are pitch black, the pupils nearly lost in the iris, the fringe of dark lashes tinged with the same red that weaves through his hair.

"As a general principle."

"So you forego them?" She cannot hide the challenge in her tone and again berates herself for the antagonism just beneath the surface of their interactions, forcing her gaze to cut away.

He seems amused, a smile evident in his voice when he replies, "When I can."

Bella pauses, carefully forming her words before she peers up at him, curiosity revealing itself in her gaze. "When can you not?"

This question appears to throw him, brows lifting as he leans back upon the stool. After several seconds pass, he finally speaks, the words slipping from his mouth almost unwillingly. "With my family."

Bella can't help the smallest smile. "So with everyone else you don't bother with saying 'hello' or 'good-bye'…or 'how do you do'?"

Edward's lips quirk in turn, his gaze glittering as he regards her across the desk. "Once you fail to respond once or twice, people generally stop trying."

Bella's smile fades, knowing he speaks the truth, her gaze falling back to her desk. Before she can form another question, his voice breaks the silence, his words halting and cautious, "I'm sorry about your father."

Her sharp inhale gives away her shock, eyes wide, lips parting with the force of her gasp. She knows she should have guessed that he or his family would have enquired about her, especially considering his request that she be his social worker. Further, given the small size of the community, it isn't as if Charlie's passing wouldn't be well-known news by nearly everyone for three counties. But beyond the shock of his knowledge of the subject is Edward's sympathy, mockery and derision entirely lacking in his tone. She blinks, somehow surprised that the desk before her still exists, that the room around her has not somehow shifted.

"It was six months ago." She cannot look up, does not want to meet his gaze when she is so caught off guard. Even worse, she knows her reaction is due almost entirely to surprise rather than sadness…which is simply more evidence of the impersonal relationship she'd had with her father. The silence drags on before she forces herself to speak again, her tone flat and dismissive. "It's fine."

Edward's voice is faint but the words are distinct in the small space. "Deceptive formalities."

Her gaze snaps up, dark eyes stormy. "This visit is for your benefit, not mine."

Edward is unmoved by her anger, lifting a hand to his chest self-mockingly, "I'm flattered at the suggestion that I could possibly offer any benefit to you!" Bella can't help her mouth gaping again, flabbergasted by his humorous, teasing tone, his sudden shift in manner. "But I think we both know there's no helping me," he concludes, his pale features regaining their serious cast.

Bella shakes her head, taking a deep breath in an attempt to recover her equilibrium. "Why do you say that?"

Edward makes a scoffing noise, dark brows drawing together. "Don't you find it possible to believe some are beyond redemption?" His tone is flippant, at odds with the severe weight of the question.

Bella does not respond immediately, sensing the import of her answer. She was not raised religiously and the word seems loaded to her, calling to mind concepts like atonement and sin that have never been a part of her graduate studies—but she knows that to argue semantics with him would be to miss the point entirely. Her voice is soft when she finally responds. "I find it impossible."

Edward's frown deepens, eyes narrow as he roughly replies, "Then I hope you enjoy disappointment."

A line flits across Bella's pale brow but it is one of concern and worry rather than anger or annoyance, chocolate eyes regarding him steadily. She is unable to keep the evidence of her heart twisting for him from her expression.

Edward blows out an exasperated burst of air, shifting on the stool uncomfortably, his gaze lifting to the ceiling again. She realizes too late that he will not respond well to any indication of her sympathy, brow smoothing just as he begins speaking again.

"You were born September thirteenth. Here in Forks—at the local hospital though it was called something else at the time." Bella again finds it impossible to maintain her equanamity, any attempt at holding an even expression dissipating with his words; her eyes flare wide as her jaw drops, gaping at him as he continues. "Uncomplicated birth, your mother was sent home the next day." He adds as if it is an afterthought, "Seven pounds, three ounces." Her shock is swiftly replaced with anger that fights every inch of her professional grace, brow furrowing and smoothing in turn. "But none of the schools here have any record of your attendance—though the courts show a divorce petition filed three weeks before your fourth birthday."

She knows what he is doing—that at the slightest sign of support he is lashing out, pushing her away—but she cannot help her fury that he clearly did much more than ask around. He smirks, seeing that he's obviously flustered her, her chest rising and falling with rapid, angry breaths, knuckles white as she clenches the pen in her hand. "I still don't fully understand why you came back, though," he muses, rubbing his chin with his thumb and forefinger.

"I don't fully understand how a seventeen year old can know words like 'execrable' and the sociolinguistic history of greetings—yet miss two months of school!" she snaps back, leaning forward across her desk, cheeks flushed.

Edward's smirk swiftly shifts to surprise, brows lifted high as he asks, "My case file was delivered?"

"No," Bella huffs, leaning back as she struggles to control her temper. "It still hasn't arrived." She knows she is angry as much with herself as with him, wondering how it's possible he can so easily rile her, forgetting her role as his counselor and his elder—though she's relatively certain none of the other social workers have had their birth weight quoted at them. She has never been in a car accident but thinks she now has a rough understanding of how whiplash must feel.

"Isn't it possible I could have a large vocabulary and miss significant amounts of school?" His dark eyes regard her calmly before a playful glint crosses his gaze. "You do realize how incredibly," he pauses, his lips quirking slyly, "torpid high school can be."

Bella can't help a burst of laughter at this obvious demonstration of his vocabulary, made at her expense or for her benefit—she can't truly tell. Quickly, she bites her lips to suppress the reaction. Her cheeks grow pink again, gaze falling to her desk. "It always depended on the subject for me," she responds, fighting the urge to fidget with her pen or jiggle her leg. She somehow feels out of her league, as if she's trying to verbally spar a practiced debater or trade jokes with a professional comedian. It seems impossible that she'd find anything funny after feeling so angry only moments before, but there's no denying her response to his sly wordplay. She frowns down at the ballpoint as if it might provide the answers.

"Perhaps, like Einstein, I fail due to boredom," Edward speculates.

Bella's gaze darts to his own, another gasp of laughter escaping her lips at his ego. "Should I call you Edward Einstein?" she asks before she can stop herself, eyes dancing with humor.

To her surprise, he appears equally amused, a half smile tilting his mouth. He manages to catch her off guard yet again by seeming to ask his next question in all sincerity, black eyes genuinely curious. "Do you like to read?"

"Very much," Bella replies without hesitation, failing to feel as if every word should be measured as has been the case with this entire conversation.

"Isn't that a sufficient explanation for my vocabulary?" His response does not hold any mockery but she still feels as if she has somehow been outmaneuvered, grimacing at his reasoning.

"Of course." The words are grudging not only because she must admit that he's right on this account, but because she can't help thinking he's led the conversation for the entirety of his visit. She berates herself again for failing to take charge—after all, he's only seventeen. Attempting to steer the topic, she asks, "What do you like to read?"

Edward nearly rolls his eyes and she is jarred by the realization that this is the first time he's appeared in any way his age, blinking rapidly at the thought. "Too many to name," he says shortly.

Shaking her head, Bella tries again. "What are you reading right now?"

Edward stills, dark eyes watchful as if considering his answer. Lips pursed, he finally responds, "_Where Angels Fear to Tread_."

Bella shakes her head again but only because she is not familiar with the title. "I haven't read it."

He simply shrugs and, though her expression remains even, she is surprised he did not take the opportunity to use her ignorance as another means of antagonizing her. Though she knows the effort to engage him is transparent, she presses on, "Is it for class?"

The faintest sneer crosses his features as he responds, "I have no desire to read _Lord of the Flies_ for the thirty-fourth time—I'd rather read my own material."

Bella can't help a small smile at this precise, clearly exaggerated number, brown eyes dancing as she asks, "No interest in allegories of good and reason versus evil and instinct?"

Edward's gaze narrows ever so slightly, his expression shifting in a manner so subtle, she at first is not certain he has reacted at all. When he speaks, it's very clear all of his focus is on his phrasing, the words precise. "I'm inclined to think Golding was attempting to demonstrate that all creatures are ultimately animals and will revert to instinct given the right circumstances—including human beings."

Bella is unsurprised by his dark interpretation of the text, her phrasing just as careful when she finally responds, "There are characters who don't succumb to their baser instincts."

"And they are killed," he swiftly answers, black eyes shining.

"Do you really think anyone could turn to murder given the right circumstances?" she can't help protesting, brow furrowing.

"Yes." His response is again short, the curve of his lips thinning.

"But—" she is preparing a retort, trying to reason with him, but he interjects before she can complete the thought.

"Given the right extradordinary circumstances, I'm certain the majority of people can be driven to behave in a manner they never would have previously thought possible."

"Like self-defense?" Bella asks, trying to understand his point of view.

"Among other things." The words are clipped and he crosses his arms over his chest, as if he's said too much.

Bella is unable to see anything personal or revealing in his words, her brow briefly furrowing, mystified by his sudden withdrawal. She shrugs casually, trying to put him back at ease, her features carefully blank. Though he may not be talking about himself, he is talking and she knows half the work of building a rapport can be found in conversing about seemingly nothing. "I'm not necessarily a fan of the text," she admits, casting her eyes to the pen in her hands. "And only read it because it was assigned in a class—like you." She knows the comparison is forced but is trying to draw any parallel between them, draw him back out.

He is silent for a moment but seems to relax infinitesimally before quietly asking, "Have you been assigned to read a book more than once?"

Though she is not certain where this topic is headed, Bella responds quickly, her nose wrinkling, "_Heart of Darkness_. Four times for undergraduate classes alone."

"The horror," he laughs, then abruptly glowers, as if annoyed at catching himself making a joke.

Bella's smile is small, unable to conceal her pleasure that she has succeeded in getting him to relax. "Exactly." She pauses before suddenly remembering, "Oh, and 'Flowers for Algernon' twice in middle school—but that was because we moved around so much."

"With your mother?" he asks, his attention abruptly focusing, dark eyes fixed on her face. Bella's expression smoothes, realizing she's given him an unwitting entry into more information about her past.

"Yes," she answers shortly.

Edward's gaze slides away, as if sensing her discomfort and retreating appropriately. "We move a lot," he offers, the words deliberately light, mimicking her effort to draw parallels between them.

"It's difficult," Bella allows, recalling her own determination when confronting Renee about staying put in Phoenix—at least through high school. Renee had not taken her daughter seriously until Bella stomped her foot, a rare, childish outburst from her usually calm, mature child that had instantly gained Renee's attention.

"It's alright," Edward shrugs. Bella frowns, sensing that he isn't simply dismissing her, his tone lacking his typical contrariness or hostility.

"You don't find it hard to start over?"

His shoulders lift and fall, his gaze fixed on his hands in his lap. "It's all the same in the end." Bella can't help frowning again, unable to reconcile how world weary he sounds with his youth, his smooth, hairless jaw, the mess of his hair.

"How so?" He shrugs again and the spell is broken, his surly, taciturn nature marking him as nothing so much as a teenager.

"Where did you live before?" she tries again, struggling to mask her curiosity in the guise of simply drawing him out.

"Alaska," his answer is short, lacking any detail.

"I've never been," she responds, trying to keep the conversation going.

"I've never been to Phoenix," he replies, dark eyes shining as he peers at her through his lashes.

Bella realizes she is failing to feel the anger she knows she should, mostly amused by his second attempt to bait her, and unable to understand his obvious interest in her. She bites her lip and realizes that her lack of chagrin is due to the fact that there is nothing of interest to keep from him, nothing to hide—so what does it matter? Ultimately, though, she knows she must maintain certain boundaries. Forcing a sigh of exasperation, she attempts to sound as firm as possible. "I'd appreciate if you didn't ask around about me."

"Who says I asked around about you?" He lifts his shoulders innocently, dark eyes wide. Her own gaze narrows, easily able to detect the smirk dancing around the corners of his lips.

"Or Google. Or whatever."

"I would never give up my sources," he smiles, lips tilting into a half grin.

"Even when they're electronic?" She knows her birth weight couldn't have been available publicly and wonders if he's a hacker—his intelligence supports the idea.

"There's some innocent systems administrator out there who could get quite the reprimand if it was known how easy it is to access certain databases."

Bella's lips thin as she realizes she has guessed correctly. "Do your parents know about your interest in computers?"

She is startled when he actually laughs at the question, his head thrown back, lips parted, as if it is the most hilarious thing he's ever heard. After his amusement has subsided into weak chuckles, Bella muses, "I have no idea whether to take that as a 'yes' or 'no.'"

Edward's eyes are bright as he leans forward, his interest apparent. "Why do you say that?"

Though she knows she should be asking the questions and steering this exchange, Bella's frustration prompts her quick reply, "You could be laughing because they're well aware, yet powerless to do anything about it." She bites her lip, pausing to allow him to react. His expression remains neutral, simply waiting for the remainder of her answer, so she continues, "Or you could be laughing at their utter cluelessness, entirely ignorant of your abilities."

"Valid theories," Edward allows, leaning back on the stool.

"You didn't answer my question," Bella frowns at him.

"Did you ask one?" he responds, evading again, brows arched.

"You know very well I did," she can hear the exasperation in her voice and struggles to control her emotions, inhaling deeply.

"I do have my own computer," he blithely responds, continuing to fail to address her question. "I actually have two—a laptop and a desk top. One for convenience and one for gaming."

"You like to play games?" Bella asks, trying to regain control of their conversation.

He shrugs, his gaze falling to his hands in his lap. "I prefer the computer to playing with others."

Bella senses something more in his words, that this is a preference imposed upon him rather than one willingly chosen. She wonders if it's due to that unease she'd initially felt when they'd met, or perhaps because of his antagonistic nature, baiting and teasing when he isn't surly and silent. She bites her lip, fighting the sympathy she knows he would not be happy to see expressed in her gaze.

"Is there no one at home—your father?" she begins, trying to understand.

"It is…too easy with him," Edward sighs, his gaze avoiding her own. "And," he chuckles so softly she is not certain she is mishearing the sound. "It is over before it begins with my sister."

"Because…?" Bella pries, leaning forward across her desk, the pen still clasped in her hands.

Edward looks up, his gaze somehow appraising, as if he is measuring her. His voice is light when he replies. "She has her advantages, I have mine."

Bella can't help a soft laugh. "You mean you both cheat?"

A flicker of surprise crosses his gaze before a smile softens his expression. "You could say that."

Bella's grin is bright with the knowledge that she is correct, and his smile falters in turn, dark eyes cutting away. She allows the silence to linger, giving him the opportunity to speak, hoping he'll say something more. But the seconds drag with only the noise of her breath punctuating the quiet. Eventually, she speaks.

"Our time is nearly up."

Edward looks up as if nothing is amiss, as if he has not sat for the last thirty seconds examining his folded hands. "I'll see you next week?"

She is caught off guard by the hopeful note in his voice, his pale features neutral but for the slightest hint of expectation in his eyes. Recovering, she responds, "Yes—yes." Her glance flicks away, nervous, unable to identify why his interest leaves her palms so damp, her heart rate accelerating. "Of course." Her voice is even, giving away nothing as she needlessly shuffles the papers on her desk.

Edward's voice is low. "Until then."

He is gone before she can respond, the door softly closing, leaving her in silence entirely of her own making.


	5. Seeing from the Outside

Thank you again for all of your reviews and recommendations. I truly appreciate it.

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><p><em>You only see civilization from the outside. I don't say in your case, but in too many cases that attitude leads to morbidity, discontent, and Socialism.<em>

_Howard's End_

**four**

"I didn't see you try to kiss her, but I sure did see her dump that beer on you!" Guffaws of laughter follow this remark, audible through the thin walls of the double wide trailer. The temporary solution to overcrowded classrooms, the trailer is situated behind the Quileute Tribal School, clapboard walls in deep maroon contrasting to the evergreens towering around.

Inside, rows of desks are neatly lined before a single whiteboard, their scratched surfaces indicating their age. Bella sits with a young girl who can be no more than eleven or twelve, her dark, glossy head bent over a well-thumbed book.

There is another burst of laughter from outside and the girl lifts her head, clearly distracted by the noise, her voice faltering on the words she has been reading out loud. Bella fights the instinct to glance over her shoulder to the window, where she knows she might glimpse the source of the distraction, willing herself to set a good example for Lissa. "…though I enjoyed the liberty?" she prompts, trying to draw the young girl's attention back to the book.

Lissa's brown eyes cast back to the page, finding her place after several seconds. "…though I enjoyed the liberty," she continued, "and the sweet grass, yet I had been so long used to society that I felt very lonely."

"…just because you don't have a girlfriend!" The words suddenly ring out above the other voices, swiftly followed by shouts of laughter. Lissa's head jerks up again, her round face filled with curiosity.

Bella covertly glances towards the clock above the whiteboard and decides she may as well be lenient. "You've just started a new chapter—would you like to break for now and finish it next week?"

Lissa's gaze darts to her tutor, a grin immediately curving across her lips. "Yes, please!"

"You guys are finishing early?" Seth's voice pipes up from the corner where he has been doing his homework, immediately taking note of this dispensation. It is his sister and her boyfriend who are outside talking and waiting for him, among others.

"Yes, Seth," Bella smiles at the teenager. "There's only five minutes left. Did you finish your calculus?"

He grimaces but is already slamming shut the book and catching up his pencil and calculator in one hand. "No, but five minutes wouldn't be enough time anyways."

The Saturday study hall is sometimes staffed by teachers from the Quileute Tribal School but also relies on volunteers to provide tutoring and assistance. Margery had informed Bella of their need for help the first week of her permanent return to Forks; having been involved in similar programs in Seattle, Bella had hoped it would provide a means of gaining direct contact with the people she ultimately wants to work with. Moreover, she is not quite sure what else she would do with the free time that seems to weigh upon her hands, hours dragging before her until Monday provides the need to return to work.

Seth Clearwater is already throwing open the door, crisp air sweeping through the small room, faintly scented with pine and rain. Bella follows after Lissa has placed the worn copy of _Black Beauty _on the low shelf, smiling as the young girl races past her. She is surprised to find everyone still lingering about the front steps when she reaches the threshold, awkwardly shifting from foot to foot as they jostle and joke.

"Hey, Bella," Jacob grins, teeth white against his tan complexion, one arm slung over Leah's shoulders, the other loosely cradling a twelve pack of beer. "We're all going to the Clearwaters to watch the game. You want to come?"

She knows the invite is cursory, her response immaterial one way or the other. Regardless, she does not want to return to the empty house just yet, the silence pushing inward, the quiet its own presence. "Sure," she replies and smiles at Leah, who merely glowers back.

Rebuked, she shifts her gaze to the others: Sam and Emily, holding hands, Quil, who is wearing sunglasses due to a hangover, and Paul, who seems intent on snatching the sunglasses from Quil's face. "You too cool for school?"

"I'm not the one who dropped out," Quil snorts, dodging Paul's hands.

"Who needs school when you can fish?" Paul challenges, black eyes flashing. Bella bites her lip, longing to speak up about the value of education but knowing she doesn't understand the culture, the priorities, the perspective that leads so many in the area to leave high school early. She is an outsider who would come across as naïve at best, and sanctimonious at worst.

"Yeah, except it takes you two months to wash the smell off," Quil digs back, then dodges as Paul shoots an arm out, barely avoiding his jab.

"Knock it off, you guys," Sam growls. "Can we get going already?"

Emily lands a soothing peck against his cheek, then turns, tugging him down the path that winds around the school and towards the road. The others follow, and, after assuring the door is locked, Bella scurries to catch up.

There are no sidewalks, gravel shoulders on either side of the road falling away to ditches filled with weeds, dandelions and horsetail. Blackberry bushes and Scotch Broom rise beyond, a brambly tangle through which houses can occasionally be glimpsed. The loose knit group of people follow the winding roads with unerring feet, seeming not to notice the sporadic pelt of rain drops, a constant in this region that only warrants a response if the drizzle turns steady and heavy.

Bella trails behind, gaze lingering on her feet and occasionally rising to the rambling figures before her, as if expecting the invitation to be rescinded at any moment. But Leah does not look over her shoulder with some flimsy excuse for excluding the graduate student...which Bella realizes is unfair to expect. After all, Jake's girlfriend has never been obviously cruel or malicious; she is simply unwelcoming.

But is this so strange? Bella is not one of them, a truth that goes beyond mere cultural or racial differences. For Jake and Leah, Sam and Emily, Quil, Seth…even little Lissa…their entire lives are the peninsula, summers spent exploring trails and playing in tidal pools, lessons at the tribal school, bonfires and fish fries through out the year. They all speak the same slang, share the same history, and often boast an interconnectedness reflected in family ties she can hardly begin to untangle. In her mind, she can see them treading the same path that will lead them to the same lives as their parents, their grandparents, and their great-grandparents before them…for generations.

Bella is a vertiable nomad in comparison, a rare presence glimpsed during summers. And while she had been encouraged to tag along with Jake's older sisters during her visits to Forks, she had preferred to read books beneath the dappled light of the towering trees in her father's back yard. Then, later, her stays had been so brief that there had never seemed to be time…a flimsy excuse even then, she knew, and one that she berates herself for now.

Even with occasional commonalities, she is an outsider. She had thought that the fact that she and Sam had both attended the University of Washington might be a frame of reference on which to hang a conversation…only to learn that he'd dropped out for reasons that were never made clear—and of course, after the initial awkward silence, she couldn't presume to ask. This is partly due to his aloof manner, his features only ever cracking into a smile when Emily is near—always forbidding and distant otherwise. But it is also because Bella can't quite help the feeling that it is not her place, not her business to ask…that she is not one of them and has no right to know.

The motley group approaches the Clearwater house, turning left and trailing nonchalantly across the empty asphalt to reach the near hidden drive. Prickly holly bushes crowd close, darkening the gravel lane that leads to the two-story Craftsman, one of the larger houses on the reservation. Bella vaguely knows it has something to do with Harry Clearwater's ancestry, that being part Skykomish has led to monthly payouts from the casino on the Tulalip reservation north of Seattle—but the details, like Sam dropping out of school, are unclear.

The young men pound up the porch steps, their heavy tread announcing their arrival long before the screen door slams open. Seth is attempting to bellow a greeting but is tackled from behind by Quil before the words fully emerge from his mouth, grunting as they both crash to the floor in the entryway.

Emily and Lissa giggle while Leah glowers darkly, muttering, "You guys are such idiots," as she sidles past them. Jake follows on her heels, grinning down as his two friends wrestle playfully on the floor. Sue appears in the archway leading into the kitchen, her tanned hands tangled in a towel as if she has just finished washing dishes.

"You kids," the words are admonishing, but a smile warms her round face. Bella feels a momentary twinge in her gut, recognizing something in Sue's easy kindness and familial manner that she longs for, that she wants…but is entirely foreign.

Bella ducks her head, feeling guilty for the unfair thoughts. Renee is not Sue, not by miles…but she is also more than ten years younger. Bella knows her mother cannot help her youth, but it is impossible to refrain from wondering, as she ambles into the kitchen, if Renee would have been just as impulsive and irresponsible had her pregnancy happened at twenty-nine instead of nineteen.

"How've you been, Bella?" Sue's voice breaks into Bella's thoughts, melodic and kind, her interest genuine.

"Fine," Bella forces a smile and leans against a counter. "Busy at the center."

Sue shakes her head, strands of dark hair falling over her shoulders as she lowers her gaze to the pizza she'd been loading with toppings upon their arrival. "Hard work. I don't know how you do it."

"Oh, I don't interact with clients…" Bella's voice trails away as she realizes this is not true, that she has one client…but she is strangely reluctant to mention it.

Jake bursts into the room before Bella can identify the reason for her reluctance, clapping his hands together. "The game's about to start—pizza ready yet?"

"You guys eat like you're starving," Sue laughs. "I'm just about to put the first one in the oven."

Jake nods, already bowing to the fridge and peering inside. "Any beer? I doubt the case I bought is going to last the first half."

"In the veggie drawer—you know Harry won't touch anything green. And he seems to think the drawer is colder than the rest of the fridge," she rolls her eyes as she speaks over her shoulder.

Jake chuckles in response and Bella cannot help marvelling at their easy camaraderie. Of course, he and Leah have been together since they were teenagers, this house as familiar to him as his own. But still, their warmth and familiarity is something sadly foreign to her; before she can stop herself, she can't help wondering why she and Charlie couldn't interact this way…why she always finds herself frustrated when speaking to her mother, grateful for the thousands of miles between them.

"You joining us?" Jake asks as he pops the tab on a can of Rainier.

Bella nods slowly, but he has already turned back to the living room where the blare of the television competes with the boisterous arguing between Quil, Seth and Paul. She lingers in the archway, the steady sound of Sue chopping peppers behind her, her gaze filled with the sight of people she feels she should know, be close to…but they may as well be strangers. Sam reclines on the sofa, Emily seated on the floor directly before him between his legs; his fingers play with her braids, his expression surprisingly relaxed as he watches the pre-game chatter. Leah and Jake are in the opposite corner of the sofa, her legs drawn beneath her, Jake's arm around her shoulders. The three younger men sprawl on the floor, Lissa at the fringes, knees drawn to her chin, arms wrapped around her thin legs.

Bella cannot see how she fits into this picture, uncaring of the game on the television and lacking the bonds that would motivate her to stay because of the company. An internal debate can be seen, with close examination, taking place upon her features; her brow faintly furrows, bottom lip worried between her teeth, her gaze subtly shifting from the crowd in the living room to the door.

Unaware of her turmoil, Paul peers up, his voice gruff. "Why don't you sit? I feel like a midget with you standing around." Bella starts at his notice, but Jake interjects before she can respond.

"I'm surprised anyone can make you feel short, Paul." Laughter follows the statement for all of the Quileute men are well over six feet tall. Even Seth at sixteen is closing in on the height.

"You know what I mean," Paul grumbles, dark brows low over his eyes as his gaze returns to the television, as if trying to dismiss drawing attention to himself or Bella. Regardless, Bella obediently lowers herself to the floor, taking the spot near Lissa who smiles at her tutor shyly.

Leah speaks up a moment later, as if only now thinking of the jibe. "Can't ever have a woman above you, eh, Paul?"

His head snaps around, glaring in her direction. "You were up above me on the cliffs. It ain't my fault you were too scared to jump."

"Asshole."

"Bitch."

"Hey! Hey!" Sue has appeared in the kitchen archway, her melodic voice unusually stern. "You'd think you guys were thirteen and fourteen instead of twenty-one and twenty-two! What's the deal?"

Leah's expression is mutinous, darting a glare at Jake as he clearly tries to muffle his chuckles. She apologizes nonetheless. "Sorry, Mom."

"Yeah, sorry Mrs. Clearwater." Paul's voice is more contrite, as if acknowledging his more frequent lapses in temper.

"You should apologize to each other," Sue admonishes, hands on her hips.

There is an awkward silence before Jake's laughter bursts forth, no longer capable of restraining the reaction. "That ain't happening, Sue. No way, no how!"

Lissa is giggling now, too, while Quil hoots loudly. Bella is glad for the distraction, her own cheeks hot with discomfort…as well as the recollection of her own encounter with the cliffs Paul mentioned, yet another example of her utter disconnect with the tribe and their ways.

Staring down at her hands, she tries to console herself with the thought that it had been mere weeks after Charlie's funeral; her mind had been in a million places, taken up with all of the tasks that accompanied returning to Forks on a more permanent basis: packing up her apartment in Seattle, rescinding her acceptance of the externship she'd arranged that summer for the coming fall, cleaning the house Charlie had shared with her mother before Renee had fled to the warmth of the southwest, collecting his things from the station, resolving to pack up his clothes for donation…before giving up and simply closing the door to his bedroom at the top of the stairs. She'd been scattered, unable to hold information in her short term memory for long, losing track of conversations in mid-sentence—a frustrating development given how responsible and organized she considered herself.

Perhaps it was no wonder then that she had been unable to make sense of what her eyes were seeing. The red truck whose rumbling engine announces her arrival where ever she goes likely drowned out the happy shouts and laughter of the three figures perched at the edge of the cliff. On her way to the tribal school to meet with the administrator about weekend tutoring, she had been jittery and nervous; though it isn't a paid position, she wanted to make a good first impression, wanted to be useful…and more than anything, wanted to be preoccupied.

"I started reading that other book you gave me." Lissa's voice is a whisper, drawing Bella from her thoughts. The game has started and everyone's gaze but her own is glued to the television screen.

"What do you think so far?" Bella's smile is small, unable to fully push away the memory resurrected by Paul's words. Her gaze falls as she thinks that even young Lissa wouldn't have blundered as Bella had that day. She'd stomped on the gas, accelerating down the road as if possessed; she knew Paul and Jake sometimes butted heads, that Jake didn't always shrug off Sam's surly moods, and that Paul and Quil had gotten into fist fights when drunk. She had thought the worst—some kind of altercation and in the most dangerous spot possible.

As she'd tumbled gasping from her truck, frustrated by the turn of the road away from the cliff face, frantic with the realization that she was still yards away, her eyes had flared wide at seeing a figure she recognized as Jake flail over the cliff edge. "No!" she'd cried, horrified by her inability to act.

"It's a little…tough," Lissa admits, one shoulder lifting nearly to her ear. "But I think I like it."

"Good," Bella whispers her reply, not wanting to draw any attention from the game, not wanting to mark herself any further as an outsider.

Her shout had carried over the water, drawing the attention of the two remaining figures on the cliff edge. She had been panting, breathless with fear…until she saw Paul bend double with laughter. The dark-haired man she recognized as Embry was pointing down to the water, as if urging her to look. It was only when she'd crept across the road on wary feet that she'd spied Jake strongly swimming towards the rocky beach, black hair slick against his skull, uninjured, unharmed.

"Now what do you got the kid reading?" Jake sighs, a thread of teasing humor apparent in the exasperated words.

"_Jane Eyre_!" Lissa pipes up as the game cuts to commercial break.

"Aw, man, I hated that book," Seth interjects, his crooked smile softening the words.

Bella can think of nothing to say, her gaze downcast, cheeks filled with heat.

Paul and Embry had teased her for her mistake for weeks after the incident at the cliffs; she hadn't minded at first, knowing it was their rough and tumble way. It was only after attending the last bonfire of the fall and hearing a mocking scream upon her arrival that she realized the story had spread across the tribe. She thought the joking cry had come from Leah but the widespread snickers and muffled laughter made it impossible to know. For an instant, she'd thought about simply turning around and going home. Only Harry's hand on her shoulder, and Sue's claims that it didn't mean anything had kept her from fleeing in embarrassment. There had been no more teasing after that.

"Pizza's served!" Sue turns through the kitchen archway into the living room, a steaming platter held aloft. Exclamations fill the room, everyone leaning forward as she lowers the tray to the coffee table with a bright smile before turning back towards the kitchen.

Bella uses the distraction, everyone's attention divided between the food and the television, to clamber to her feet and whisper her farewell to Sue. "You sure you don't want to stay for pizza?" she asks, brow furrowing with concern.

"Oh, I have leftovers that'll go bad if I don't eat them tonight," Bella lies airily, turning toward the front door with a cheery wave. She ducks through and is gone without anyone noticing her exit.


	6. Avoidance

Thank you for all of the reviews & recommendations. I may not be able to answer all of the last set of reviews but please know that I read and appreciate every one.

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><p><em>But each time that she avoided George, it became more imperative that she avoid him again.<em>

_A Room with a View_

**five**

The bright violet blue of the petals catches her attention, distinct against the geen of the lawn and the white clapboard of the house. Bella does not realize until several seconds have passed that she is frozen at the bottom of the porch steps, mindlessly gazing at the bed of forget-me-nots blooming and covered in dew.

Her features are blank, her actions clearly occuring without thought or motive: she shifts the travel mug of tea in her right hand to her left, repositions the backpack slung over her shoulder, steps through the still damp grass careless of her canvas flats, and tugs several blossoms from the ground.

It is only when she is behind the wheel of her truck driving to the center that she realizes a wide, thoughtless grin has taken up residence on her lips. The smile quickly fades, dark eyes darting over the familiar road as if seeing it for the first time. Why should her mood be so bright? Why should this day be different than any other? Her heart stutters in her chest as she pushes away the thought, unwilling to examine her feelings.

A frown replaces the smile, her pale brow furrowed as she glances down at the three delicate flowers sitting atop her backpack in the passenger seat. The perennials had been planted by her mother during her short marriage to Charlie, one of many attempts at adding color and life to the little, shadowed house. Bella's mind flashes to the plaid pillows on the sofa, the yellow cupboards in the kitchen, and another bed of flowers that had not survived her childhood near the steps at the back door.

Her impulsive, flighty mother…Bella is nothing like her. She does not have her sense of adventure, or the heedlessness that allows Renee to throw caution to the wind in pursuit of the novel, the fun, the unexpected. Bella's lips thin as she denies to herself anything has changed—she is still nothing like Renee. So she may have strategized a few elements of her morning appointment with her only client but that is because, unlike her mother, she plans, she thinks ahead. She pushes away the sense of anticipation that had accompanied this planning, wrenching the wheel as she turns into the health center's parking lot.

Defiantly, she steals a drinking glass from the break room and fills it with tap water. Her cheeks are red as she marches down the hall and into her minuscule office, eyes bright as she plants the glass on the corner of her desk and carefully deposits the three flowers. Her gaze rests on the flowers for several seconds before her shoulders sag, wondering what exactly it is she's trying to prove. Dropping her backpack to the floor, she falls into her chair with a sigh. Finally, biting her lip, she forces herself to focus on the file she'd been auditing the prior evening. To her surprise, she succeeds in distracting herself and is completely lost in thought when the alarm on her cell phone quietly pings.

Bella cheeks bloom with a sudden rush of heat as she is reminded of her strategizing that morning, before she'd even left the house. She is motionless in her seat for a moment, then rises so quickly that her chair cracks into the wall behind her desk. The red in her cheeks only darkens at the sound and she forces herself to take several deep breaths. Then, gaze darting around the room, she picks up a totally unnecessary clipboard, a pen, and opens the door to the hallway.

Her thought is to throw Edward Cullen off guard—that by surprising him in the lobby, she will have some advantage. He cannot catch her on edge and full of expectation in her office if she just happens to be up front chatting with Maria at the time of his arrival. So she had set the alarm on her phone to go off fifteen minutes before his appointment to allow plenty of time to position herself.

As she steps around the corner, crossing the border where linoleum transitions to the carpet of the lobby, she realizes she had not quite thought this fully through. After all, she and Maria have never found reason to socialize before, the receptionist seemingly content to browse the internet inbetween filing charts, opening mail, and checking in patients. Despite the closeness in their age that might have indicated similar interests, Maria has never spoken to Bella beyond what is made necessary by the work…and, for her part Bella can never quite think what to say beyond that topic.

Maria seems to take no notice of Bella's approach, gaze fixed on the computer monitor as her fingers click languidly at random intervals over the keys. Bella hesitates, glancing back towards the hallway, wondering if the entire idea isn't completley ridiculous. Setting her mouth, a hint of determination enters her gaze. She takes the last step towards Maria's desk and coughs.

Maria turns, brown eyes mild and questioning.

"Did…" Bella flounders, then finally settles on the only topic they've ever discussed before: work. "Did the Cullen case file ever get delivered?" The words rush from her mouth and once spoken, she smiles brightly, feeling a sense of accomplishment at having regained her footing. The feeling does not last long.

"No." Maria's answer is brief. Bella's mouth gapes slightly, realizing with a sense of panic that she has no follow up question or topic. Maria's fine brows draw together, clearly mystified by the fact that Bella hasn't turned away to return to her office at this response.

Bella can feel the heat climbing her throat to her cheeks but is rooted to the spot, unable to abandon her initial strategy, unable to admit defeat. Awkward silence envelopes them and Bella swallows, struggling to think of something to say.

"—then you can fuck right off, Edward."

Maria and Bella's heads turn in unison at these sharp words, the tail end of a conversation that Bella will later find herself wishing she'd heard in its entirety.

As Bella takes in the sight before her, her mind darts in a million directions, trying to make sense of what she's seeing. Edward Cullen, her tempermental, impenetrable client, is accompanied by a young girl so petite the top of her dark head doesn't quite reach his shoulder. The girl is a mess of contradictions that Bella can only process as a haze of contrasts: black clothing and ghostly skin, a halo of messy hair framing fine, delicate features, and heavy boots that look as if they belong on a soldier rather than a teenage girl. Bella blinks, forcing herself to remember the goths and punks she'd encountered in Seattle but who are less evident in rural Clallam County, that this girl would not be so shocking in any major city. If anything, she thinks how utterly appropriate that this should be Edward's one apparently antagonistic companion.

Yet…he is glaring down at the girl with barely restrained anger, pale hands balled into fists at his sides, jaw clenched so tightly the muscle can be seen jumping there. He is about to speak when something seems to jerk his attention to the reception desk, his gaze locking with Bella's.

Bella blinks again, as if doing so will erase the sudden alteration to his eye color. Her gaze darts between them as he and the diminutive girl cross the remainder of the lobby with measured steps…and she slowly processes the fact that their eyes are the same, a rich amber too flecked with gold to be considered brown, and too uniformly honeyed to be hazel. The color is so unusual that for Edward and the girl to share it can only mean that this is his sister.

Her cheeks suffuse with sudden heat at the relief that accompanies this knowledge. Her gaze falls from Edward's to the useless clipboard in her hands and she realizes that it is trembling in her grip. Before she can deny or examine the feeling, Edward is speaking, his voice a mixture of restrained anger, exasperation and something that sounds like grim humor. "Bella, I would like to say I'm pleased to introduce you to my sister, however—"

He is cut off by a pert voice, the small girl piping up before he can finish. "Always gotta be more sour than a green tomato!" She turns to Bella. "I'm Alice." The introduction is accompanied by a harried sweep of the black bangs that obscure her brow, preventing them from shaking hands.

Bella can't help a small smile. "I'm Bella." Then, unable to restrain her curiosity, she asks Edward, "You wear contacts?"

He hesitates, opening his mouth to speak, before his head abruptly tilts towards Alice…as if he's listening to her—but the pale girl is simply smiling brightly up at Bella, unspeaking. "Sometimes," he finally answers.

Bella nods, wondering if it is a goth affectation she simply hadn't noticed given the rest of his clothes aren't uniformly black…unlike his sister whose tee shirt, worn jeans with fraying knees, and hoodie are all varying shades of the color. Only the combat boots on her feet deviate from the uniform darkness of her clothes, her inky hair, even the nail polish on her tiny hands. Calf brown in color, Alice's boots are cracked and gray in places where the leather has worn thin, the laces frayed where they strain through the eyes. Bella knows she must have gotten them second hand for there is no way such a young girl could have owned shoes long enough to wear them down to such an extent—after all, given her size, she must still be growing.

"Seeing you in person," Alice begins, golden eyes bright, "just doesn't compare!" Her smile grows impossibly wider. It strikes Bella as yet another unlikely contrast about her, that her appearance should be so dark while her demeanor is so cheery.

Then Bella absorbs Alice's statement, a frown forming on her brow in confusion. "Doesn't compare?" she faintly echoes, the words a question.

Bella's gaze shifts to Edward, wondering if he'd spoken about her—shared some of the details he'd so testily unleashed on her in their last session. He doesn't meet her curious stare, his gaze firmly fixed on the floor, his hands jammed in his jean pockets. Contemplating him, her imagination conjures a kitchen, then a dining room, the Cullens sharing their evening meal, Edward grumpily insisting that his next appointment be with her, and only her…while Alice pesters him with questions he refuses to answer.

"You know!" Alice rolls her eyes, as if the answer is self evident. "Edward expresses about as much interest in his surroundings as a corpse—"

"Alice." Edward's voice is so firm that Alice's mouth snaps shut, her head whipping around to meet his gaze. They engage in an angry staring contest that Bella finds herself longing to interrupt as the seconds tick by, uncomfortable with the tension. Just as she is about to speak, Alice pipes up again.

"Don't mind him," she grins at Bella, her smile so infectious that Bella finds her lips tilting in response. "He's just terminally grumpy—as I'm sure you know."

Bella swallows a laugh, her eyes smarting with the effort of holding in the sound. Her gaze instantly falls to the floor, alarmed at what she might see in Edward's expression.

To her surprise, his voice is simply wry when he speaks, as if accustomed to Alice's teasing, "Shouldn't we get started?"

"You're all checked in," Maria confirms, reminding the trio of her existence.

"Right," Bella can feel her cheeks warming again and turns away, clutching the clipboard to her chest. Then, remembering her manners, "It was nice to meet you," she calls over her shoulder. Alice is still standing near the reception desk, her hands thrust into her pockets.

"I'm sure we'll meet again," she grins back, amber eyes twinkling.

"Ignore her," Edward mutters as they turn the corner to the corridor. "She won't be here when my appointment is over."

"It's fine," Bella feigns nonchalance, trying to put him at ease about his sister tagging along. "A little family support is a good thing," she smiles benignly, stepping into her office and rounding the desk to her seat.

"Hardly support," Edward scoffs, stooping down to the stool opposite her desk. "More like insatiable curiosity." His eyes land on the flowers on the corner of her desk and the frown furrowing his brow deepens. "Where did you get these?"

Bella blinks, having forgotten the flowers—then frowns in turn, chagrined and unable to understand the sudden worsening of his dark mood. "My front yard." She doesn't succeed in keeping the defensiveness from her tone.

Edward's entire mien shifts, his shoulders sinking from where they'd nearly risen to his ears, hands loosening from the fists he'd been clenching since they'd entered her office; the alteration is not limited to his frame, his pale features equally transformed, his scowl disappearing as if by magic, brow smooth, amber eyes calmed. Bella inahles sharply, realizing with a sudden, total certainty that his anger was due to the assumption that the flowers were given to her—and that he is relieved now that he knows their presence indicates no admirers in her life. Her eyes fall to her hands and she pulls them from the top of the desk to her lap, unable to stop their shaking. She inhales and tries to tell herself that she had guessed his reasoning for wishing to see her instead of Janet from the beginning, that this is nothing new, that she can handle this typical clinical attachment…or else all of her schooling will have been a waste.

Bella's brown eyes lift from her lap only to find Edward's expression has shifted to its usual inscrutably blank slate, his features bland and emotionless. Despite her internal reassurances, her voice is weak when she speaks. "My mother planted them."

"You are partial to them because of her."

Bella shakes her head, her gaze darting away. "No, I'd like the flowers regardless." Edward is silent but curiosity has filtered into his eyes and she finds herself babbling, trying to explain. "The color is so pretty, and there's something…sweet about them. And even though they're so colorful, they're delicate…unobtrusive."

Edward's lips have tilted as she speaks, and Bella's heart stutters in her chest as she realizes she's happy to see him pleased by something she's said. "They're your favorite," he quietly presumes.

She knows this is dangerous ground, that he's sought information about her from their first meeting—but it seems such a harmless thing to reveal. "Yes," she admits, her voice equally quiet, forcing her gaze to remain steady as she meets his eyes.

Edward's messy head tilts back, thoughtful. "I would have thought morning glory," he muses, eyes narrowing as he regards her with an equally level stare.

A faint frown has formed on her brow in response. "Why is that?"

Edward's gaze drops, his hands shifting into his pockets. "No matter."

Bella's frown deepens, knowing the topic is now closed but confused by the reason for the shift. Taking a breath, she attempts to lead the conversation, trying to regain her footing. "How was your weekend? What did you get up to?"

Edward's lips twist, his gaze cutting away to the ceiling. "Alice and I hiked."

"Oh, really?" Bella is curious. She wouldn't have assumed he would partake in the outdoor sports typical for the region—especially given what information she'd deduced about his computer skills. Edward simply nods, his gaze still fixed on the ceiling. "Where?" she follows up patiently, accustomed now to his reticence.

"In the park," he answers, the words wry, as if this should be obvious. Bella's lips tighten, resisting the urge to point out that there are many places besides the Olympic National Forest he could have gone.

"And school?" she calmly asks after regaining control of her emotions.

"School was entirely redundant," he drawls. His foot begins a restless tap against the floor, clearly bored with this line of conversation. "But what of your weekend? What did you do?"

Bella sighs and fails to resist the urge to fiddle with her pen. Knowing that tackling the topic directly is unlikely to have an effect, she still cannot fight the instinct to be straightforward. "These sessions are not about me."

"Right," Edward agrees easily. "But I find the topic of myself entirely too boring for words—"

"How shocking." The sarcastic interjection catches even Bella by surprise, her eyes flaring wide as an immediate blush of contrition and embarassment blossoms across her cheek bones.

Edward, for his part, is equally surprised, golden eyes startled as his gaze meets her own. "I'm sor—" She begins to apologize but he cuts her off before the words have fully left her lips.

"No, don't." His smile is tight and she senses a steely admiration in his tone. "It's refreshing to see there is a limit to your patience."

Bella bristles, defensive at the assumption. "I'm not _trying_ to be patient!" She does not quite hear herself, too distraught still at the slip in her professionalism, failing to measure her words as she usually does in his presence.

Edward's golden eyes regard her steadily, mouth quirking with humor. "You mean it doesn't take every ounce of your good will to get through these appointments?"

"Not at all!" It is only with this exclamation that Bella realizes what she's saying and the color that had begun subsiding in her cheeks, fading to the faintest pink, suddenly blossoms bright again. "I mean," she chokes. "You're my client—or, the health center's client," she remembers that technically Janet is signing for his hours. "And as such, I'm invested in helping you." The phrase sounds false and stilted even to her ears.

"But of course." There is no mistaking the mockery in his tone, his own sarcasm now barely concealed.

"Though it would definitely help if you would tell me why you're here," Bella breathlessly grasps at the only topic that she knows will save her from her terrible gaffe, refocusing their conversation on the true reason for his presence at the center.

Edward's expression immediately darkens, brows lowering over his eyes. "I find it much more interesting trying to comprehend why you're here."

Bella resists the urge to throw up her hands in frustration, failing to think before she speaks for the second time that morning. "_I'm_ not even sure why I'm here!" The words are a groan, her eyes wide as she stares at his glowering face across her desk. In the back of her mind, she realizes that her assessment when they first met, that he might be considered attractive by girls his own age were he to smile every once in a blue moon, is entirely incorrect. He is strangely magnetic, even in anger.

Edward's frown eases at her admission, the sudden brightness in his gaze filling Bella's stomach with a sense of dread. What is she doing? How can she suddenly be so unguarded, so honest? Her eyes fall to her desk, to the pen that is clenched in her hand, and forces her muscles to relax. She realizes that, despite the conscious motion, willing herself to be calm, her heart is pounding in her chest, that she can feel her pulse beating in her throat.

Edward breaks the silence, "How unsatisfying." His voice is barely a murmur and Bella's eyes fly from her trembling hands as if to ascertain that he truly spoke.

"What do you mean?" she asks, her tone unintentionally sharp. She lowers her gaze again as she forces herself to breathe evenly, briefly closing her eyes as she wrestles to control her emotions.

Edward pauses, as if sensing her need for a few seconds to calm herself; she is internally surprised that he allows it, wondering that he doesn't continue to push her buttons when she is vulnerable. "I have my reasons for being here," he begins when her eyes again lift, his expression now guarded and wary.

"The rain," Bella responds. There is no wryness or sarcasm in her tone, merely repeating what he'd stated at their first appointment.

Edward chuckles dryly, his gaze falling to his hands. His thumb restlessly circles the tip of his forefinger, a habit she'd noticed before, a motion she realizes he falls into when he is avoiding responding. However, on this occasion, he suddenly speaks instead of allowing the seconds to tick by. "The rain is only an unintended consequence." Bella opens her mouth to query how this can be but he is still speaking, his voice rough, as if the words are being forced from him against his will. "Snow in Alaska or rain here—it's all the same." She notes that same resignation that had tugged at her heart before, his features grim as he continues. "But there are always considerations to take into account, for all of us. My father's practice, my mother's gardening—"

"In Alaska?" Bella can't help faintly interrupting, struggling to keep up with this stream of information.

Edward's golden eyes rise from his hands, his frown briefly fading as he shortly explains. "There is a green house." His chest rises and falls, as if wrestling with the urge to continue speaking. "Alice has her…hobbies," Bella bites her lip to keep from interrupting again though she is intensely curious as to his sister's interests. "And for me, the quiet."

He abruptly ceases speaking, as if a cork has been shoved into a wine bottle, his mouth snapping shut as his gaze again falls to his hands. A frown slowly furrows his brow and she can guess as to his internal monoloque, likely berating himself for holding forth for so long. She silently wonders if this is an unintentional quid pro quo, his guard dropping only after she lost her patience. She finally asks, when it becomes clear he will say nothing further, "The quiet?"

Edward's gaze lifts, brows still low over his eyes as he appears to weigh his response. "A small town—I cannot abide large cities."

"Because of the noise, the crowds?" Bella guesses. Her mind races, thinking that perhaps he has anxiety, of which a symptom is extreme noise sensitivity.

Edward's lips quirk humorlessly. "You could say that."

"Have you ever seen a psychiatrist?" Bella asks. If only she had his file, she would know whether he has been diagnosed or, what's more, prescribed medication.

Edward's response is a short bark of laughter, his eyes lifting to the ceiling. "No."

"Perhaps I could set you up—"

"You never told me what you did this weekend." Bella cannot help a faint frown at the interruption, wondering if he'll ever allow her to perform her role. She decides to make a note of the potential anxiety once he has left and allows him to change the topic for the time being.

"I was out at La Push—tutoring and then watching a game at a…a friend's house."

"The reservation?" She is surprised by the sudden aggression in the question, sitting back as he abruptly leans forward on the stool.

"Right, at the tribal school." Her gaze darts over his features, trying to make sense of the unexpected anger there. He appears to be fighting the urge to say something, lips twisting as his amber eyes bore into her own.

Bella's own brows draw together, her voice careful as she asks, "Is there something wrong?"

"Yes. No." Bella's eyes widen as his hands fist in his lap then jam in his pockets, his mutinous glare falling to the floor. "Just—be careful."

"Why?" she cannot hide the surprise from her voice, unable to understand.

"Our time's up." Bella's head darts to her watch and she realizes with wide eyes that he is right—she had not even noticed the passage of the minutes. Edward is already standing, the stool scuffing against the floor with the movement. "Until next week," he does not meet her gaze, slamming through the door so loudly that the walls shake.

Bella exhales, marveling that she is only more mystified by Edward Cullen the more time that she spends with him.


	7. Two Outsiders

Thank you for your reviews and amazing, thoughtful feedback.

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><p><em>It gave her no extra pleasure that any one should be left in the cold; and when she rose to go, she turned back and gave the two outsiders a nervous little bow.<em>

_Howard's End_

**six**

Bella had resisted the urge to ask Seth Clearwater if he knew of the Cullens while helping him with his chemistry homework that morning. Various questions had hovered at the tip of her tongue the entire session but she had not been able to figure out a way to phrase it without breaking confidentiality. As she wheels away from the reservation, however, her resolve is unwavering, adamantly pushing down any feelings of hesitancy as she speeds along La Push Road to Highway 110 and back towards Forks. The justifications spin through her thoughts, overwhelming any doubts about her motivations. After all, she cannot come away from every appointment with more questions than answers—this is simply research, information gathering, the kind of foot work she will likely have to do once she's licensed—the kind of action she would take for any future client she encounters.

The parking lot for Forks Memorial Library is nearly empty given the hour is only eleven on a Saturday. Seth had been intent on getting home so he could play video games—his reward for attending the weekend tutoring sessions. Given the overcast skies that resemble nothing so much as curdled milk, perpetually threatening rain, Bella guesses the rest of the town is following suit in some shape or manner: television, sleeping in, late breakfasts or other leisurely activities. She pushes away the thought that she is out of synch again with everyone else, filled with jittery determination, intent and unable to sit still.

The library is a small one story structure that fills her with a sudden wistfulness for its immense counterparts on the University of Washington campus. As she pushes through the glass paned door, one hand thrust into the pocket of her rain coat, she reminds herself that she is not necessarily here for books—that in the digital age, only one resource matters. Bella flashes a cursory smile to the attendant behind the counter before heading directly to the row of computer terminals on the far wall.

Bella is still before the keyboard, head bowed, struggling to think of what to search first. She realizes with a silent blink that she has a woefully inadequate amount of information to start, that despite the amount of time they've now spent together, she knows far too little about Edward Cullen. Biting her lip, she finally begins typing.

The search engine brings up a list of movies, trailers and, further down the page, gardening sites. She clicks on one link and finds some of what she expected, paragraphs of information on the invasive species often considered a weed. She chews the inside of her cheek, wondering if he intended to insult her by presuming the morning glory should have been her favorite flower.

Bella backs up, digging deeper into the results, trying to understand his reasoning. Her brow quirks at learning certain species have hallucinogenic properties. She finds it unlikely Edward thinks she has any interest in psychedelics—it's never come up during their conversations and it simply doesn't seem like him. She blushes as she realizes she's making a huge assumption, reminding herself that she knows very little about this young man and that she should make a note of it for their next appointment.

Frustrated, Bella begins randomly clicking links, backing out of web sites that all seem to carry the same tips and tricks for eradicating morning glory. She pauses as a site emblazoned with a confection of blooming flowers, gaudily colorful illustrations rather than photographs, pops up on the screen. "The Victorian language of flowers?" she murmurs to herself, forgetting for a moment that she is not alone. She glances over her shoulder but the library is still largely empty, the attendant bent over a book behind her counter.

Returning to the screen, Bella leans closer, scrolling down the list of flowers and their attendant meanings. She doesn't recognize many of the varieties, her eyes flicking over the words until she reaches the entries under the letter 'm.'

_Marigold – despair, grief_

_Marjoram – illusion_

_Moss – maternal love_

_Mimosa – sensitive, bashful, modesty_

_Mint – virtue_

_Morning glory – love in vain_

She rears back from the screen, eyes flaring wide as her cheeks suffuse with heat. She knows this can't be…Her lips thin with grim disbelief, eyes narrowing as her gaze darts back and forth across the last three words. A knot has formed in her stomach as she scrolls back up the page, eyes blind to the screen, simply trying to make sense of what she's discovered. Then, focusing, she backs out of the site and looks up other references on the same subject. She glosses over the history of the practice, scrolling through more lists with similar meanings. She shakes her head, the knot in her stomach tightening. This can't be right. A foster kid from Alaska...how can he begin to have a clue about nineteenth century floriography?

Bella briefly closes her eyes as she closes out the browser. Regardless of his possible knowledge of the subject, if it's true…if this is what he meant, it indicates his interest in her is far more intense than she could have guessed. Her head bows, uncertain she wants to continue looking, not if this first search is any indication of what she'll find. Quickly, before she loses her resolve, she uses the most popular search engine to look up his name. The first two pages of results aren't for him and she forces herself to close out the browser again, all of her resolve dying with the realization that this search isn't motivated so much by research as by sheer curiosity.

She leaps off the stool, heart pounding with a mix of embarrassment and chagrin, hurrying over to the shelves of books as if physical concealment will somehow hide her thoughts. Bella's gaze is fixed on her feet, her lip caught between her teeth as an internal war rages within. She knows that whatever interest he has in her is likely harmless and, in fact, downright typical…yet she cannot fight the discomfort and worry she feels over this knowledge. Lifting her head, she vows to maintain the proper boundaries, to do her best to help him, and to see nothing significant in his apparent fascination with her.

She manages to lose herself in a book that, despite her insistence to herself that she picked up entirely by chance, she can't help shoving back onto the shelf when a bright greeting interrupts her reading.

"Bella!"

"Alice." Bella swallows as she spins on her heel, knowing it's unlikely Edward's sister missed her obvious attempt to get rid of her reading material. "What are you doing here?"

"It's the public library," she grins, her eyes flicking towards the shelf behind Bella before settling on her blushing face. "The stuff they give us at school is too boring for words." The heat in Bella's cheeks subsides as it becomes clear Alice isn't going to ask about the book she had been perusing, an uneasy smile flitting across her lips.

"You sound like your brother," she finally responds.

Alice's amber gaze lifts to the ceiling with an exaggerated eye roll. "That is the last thing I want to hear. I thought I had my melancholy periods but he puts Keats to shame."

Bella can't help a slight widening of her gaze at evidence that Alice possesses the same vocabulary as her brother and makes the same references that strike her as…off somehow for someone so young. Then, realizing she has no idea as to Alice's age, Bella asks, "How old are you?"

Alice grins, white teeth flashing as she brushes at the messy bangs across her forehead. "Sixteen."

"Oh." Bella would have thought a year or two younger based on her diminutive size alone…but as her gaze lingers over Alice's narrow, heart-shaped face, pointed chin and sharp cheek bones, her maturity becomes apparent, like something glimpsed in shallow water, swimming just beneath the surface of her gaze. "You're close in age, then."

Alice nods shortly, understanding that Bella is referencing her brother. "Yup. Like two peas in a pod." Her gaze darts around the shelves around them. "As much as I razz him, I know we're alike." She examines a book on the shelf, a slim finger lifting to pull at the spine. "We're both avid readers."

Bella nods, recalling her second session with Edward. "That was clear from our conversations," she adds.

Alice's gaze falls to the combat boots on her feet, a hand drifting into her spiky hair, aimlessly mussing the locks as if lost in thought. When she finally speaks, there is an intense wistfulness in her tone. "Books are…a way to lose yourself, you know?" Her wide, honey eyes dart up to Bella. "A way to pass the time…but also a way to be someone else for a little bit."

The girl's obvious need to relate to someone, to express herself, softens whatever subconscious reservations Bella might have been retaining. "I agree," she responds quietly.

Alice's mouth quirks wryly, the vulnerable moment gone like a wisp of smoke. "Doesn't this library suck, though?"

Bella lips part with a surprised laugh, partly at the sentiment and partly at the shift from revealing confession to tough dismissiveness. "Yes," she agrees, the smile still lingering around her lips.

Alice's amber eyes abruptly focus on Bella's features, alight with sudden excitement. "I can show you a much better selection."

"Oh, really?" Bella's brows lift. "I don't think it'd be a good idea to head to Port Angeles—"

"No, no, it's much closer! Right on the edge of town!" Alice protests, lifting a pale hand as if to excuse her interruption. "I can drive—I promise, you'll love it!"

Bella's gaze drifts around the spare shelves lit by the sickly bluish glow of the fluorescents overhead. She's repeatedly meant to explore further afield than her father's home town but hasn't known where to start. She chews her lip, a hint of pink threatening at her jaw line, knowing the idea of spending time with Alice would likely antagonize her client—but also feeling as if it would be unkind to turn the eager girl down.

"Shouldn't you be at the mall with your friends?" Bella attempts to joke, grasping at one last out.

Alice's expression goes abruptly flat before her gaze darts away. The words are a mutter when she replies, "I don't have any friends."

"That can't be—" Bella attempts to protest.

"Don't worry about it," Alice cuts her off. Her tone is not unkind, simply resigned. "I shouldn't have asked."

"No, no, I'm an idiot," Bella raises her hand, the last of her guard falling, exasperation at herself evident in her voice. "I shouldn't have said that—shouldn't have assumed." She sighs. "_I_ didn't have any friends in high school so it's insensitive _and_ stupid of me to have said that."

Alice's grin is back in full force. "So you'll come?"

"Sure," Bella shrugs, resigning herself to dealing with the consequences. She has no doubt Edward will be annoyed at the very least, but she'll cross that bridge when she comes to it.

"My car's right outside," Alice claps her hands, turning and darting back down the aisle on surprisingly quick feet. Bella hurries to catch up.

Moments later, she has to shake her head at the surreal fact that she is bouncing down Calawah Way in some type of vintage car with Alice Cullen happily babbling behind the steering wheel. "…first editions and a bunch of leather bound books from England—you'll just love it!"

"What kind of car is this?" Bella asks. The condition is pristine, unlike her rusted truck with white stuffing spilling from the cracked bench seat.

"A 1969 Chevy Corvair. V8 engine," Alice flashes a grin in Bella's direction. "The only thing I've replaced is the dashboard—had to tear out the terrible CD changer for this little auxiliary jack," her finger taps the outlet. "So I can listen to my tunes," she thrusts a hand into the pocket of her black hoodie and yanks out an iPod, wiggling it for Bella's benefit. Bella feels a dart of anxiety at Alice's one-handed driving but the car doesn't so much as drift an inch across the pavement.

"I'm glad whoever owned my truck before me didn't update anything—it all changes so fast." Bella laughs. "Can you imagine someone putting in a tape deck?" She hesitates then quickly adds, "Probably before your time—mine, too, a little. Though my mom's car had a tape deck when I was little."

"Yeah." Alice responds shortly. Then, after a moment, "Technology, right? Wild how quickly things are obsolete."

Bella laughs, her returning nervousness slightly evident in the sound. "Though I wouldn't mind having something besides AM radio in my truck."

"I bet Edward could fix you up. He's super savvy with gadgets," Alice blithely offers.

"God, no!" Bella exclaims without thinking. Alice's bright expression shifts to confusion and Bella tries to explain, "He's my client—it wouldn't be appropriate. Besides which, I really don't need anything like that."

"Why can't Edward help you? You help him." Alice's voice is curious and matter-of-fact at the same time, and the reasonableness of her statement sends Bella stuttering.

"Because even if I do h-help him—which I'm not at all certain I do, especially given…but that isn't…" The words drift off as she struggles to articulate her thoughts, before she tries again. "It just isn't appropriate to overstep certain boundaries—and it's my job, as his social worker—well, not technically his social worker…but I'm responsible for maintaining those boundaries. After all, I'm twenty-three and he's only seventeen and I have to be professional."

Alice glances over at Bella, brows low with continuing confusion at this garbled outburst. "It's just a little jack installation." Her gaze returns to the road. "And it's not like he has a girlfriend."

"That's irrelevant to me!" The heat in Bella's cheeks is so intense, she lifts her hands to cool them, her heart pounding in her chest. Belatedly, she realizes she was nearly shouting, her voice incredibly loud within the confines of the small, sporty car.

"You know, just if you were wondering."

"I wasn't!" Bella turns to face Alice but her gaze is fixed on the road, her expression guileless and bland. "Wait—aren't we headed east?" Bella had been so intent on their discussion that she hadn't notice their direction until that moment. "We're nearly to the park."

"Right, we're nearly there!" Alice's expression brightens again, flashing a smile at Bella. "The turn off is right ahead."

"But where…" Bella's voice dies in her throat as the vintage car turns into a gravel drive and churns up a winding lane through enormous evergreens; the trees are so mighty that even craning her neck doesn't allow her to see their height. Emerald grass spills away from either side of the drive, the color so rich that Bella can only think of golf courses and wealthy, gated neighborhoods she's occasionally glimpsed in Phoenix and Seattle.

"We're here!" Alice crows, cranking the wheel before a steep set of steps leading to a shaded porch.

"Here?" Bella's voice is faint as she takes in their destination. It's a house—not a library or shop or thrift store selling books by the pound. Cedar shingles mimic and blend with the surrounding forest, the porch posts formed from pale gray river rock, the gutters a burnished copper that complements the earth tones of the utterly lovely house. Bella's heart stutters in her chest with a sudden realization. "Where is 'here,' Alice?"

"My house, silly!" She is already leaping out of the car and springing up the steps. Bella is frozen, unable to move from her seat as her brain processes where she is and how vastly she's unknowingly overstepped boundaries. Her features grow deathly pale, her lip rapidly reddening as she gnaws it with worry, trying to figure out how to extricate herself from this mess.

"No one is home, if that's what you're worried about!" Alice's voice cries distantly from the shadowed porch. "They won't be back for hours!"

After another full minute seated in the car, Bella finally unlatches her seat belt and reluctantly steps into the fresh, clean air of the forest. She squints, trying to discern Alice on the porch but is unable to detect anything beneath its deep overhang. Finally, she places a foot on the first step and slowly, nervously marches up the stairs, full of dread with the certainty that she's crossing a line, her stomach in knots with discomfort…but unable to see a way free of the situation.

The front door is ajar and Bella reluctantly peers around the crack. As if anticipating her delayed entrance, Alice pokes her head around the far corner. "This way!"

Bella can't help a sigh at the young girl's enthusiasm, wondering how Alice can remain so blithe in the face of her brother's certain anger. With another sigh, she fully enters the room, quietly shutting the door behind her.

As she crosses thickly piled carpets the color of snow, her gaze sweeps the room, pace slowing as she absorbs the quiet luxury of her surroundings. An enormous fireplace resembling the same river rock of the porch posts reaches to high ceilings; beams crisscross the space, knotted and gnarled, likely remnants of the forest around them. A wide sofa and armchairs in charcoal fabric sprawl before the fireplace, a disarray of pillows in blue and white scattered across their cushions. As she turns the corner around which Alice disappeared, she sees the room seamlessly transitions into an open kitchen, all immaculate granite countertops and gleaming stainless steel. A corridor leads beyond, shadowed and silent.

"Alice?"

"In here, Bella!"

"Alice, I really shouldn't be here." Bella reluctantly continues down the corridor, the lush carpet giving way to polished hardwoods. As her vision adjusts to the dim space, she slows as she realizes photographs adorn the walls. She doesn't quite understand her own disappointment at seeing the images are only black and white cityscapes, no personal snapshots or family portraits among them.

"If you really want to leave, I can take you back." Bella can't help her jaw dropping as she reaches the end of the corridor and finds Alice in the Cullen library. "But I've already picked a few books for you—the least you can do is take them with you…for your trouble."

"I…" But she can't speak for she is far too astonished at the absolute orgy of books before her in a room like nothing she's encountered before. The ceilings are easily twice the height of a normal room, dim and shadowed, too high for lamp light to reach. Of course, it is not the ceiling height that has her mouth agape, but the books that fill shelf after shelf up to the very rafters, circling the room and filling the walls. The only space free of books are the windows inbetween every third set of shelves, the panes concealed by sheer panels in ivory. She can only manage one word, slowly turning in place as she tries to take in the magnificence of the room. "How…?"

"We all like to read," Alice shrugs, stepping forward with a stack of books in her thin arms. "Here—I picked these out for you."

Bella stares down at the books, unable to understand how Alice could have selected a stack from the bounty of the surrounding shelves so quickly. It had taken her no more than five minutes to follow the diminutive teenager inside; could she have picked out the books before meeting Bella at the library in Forks? But how could Alice have known they would run into one another? "But…"

"Please don't say 'no,' Bella. I already feel badly enough that you feel uncomfortable here," Alice pleads, thrusting the stack of books in Bella's direction.

"It's not that!" Bella protests, weakly lifting her arms to take the load. "I just don't think it's appropriate—"

"I know—I understand." Alice's gaze falls, full of contrition. "I was just excited—I knew you'd like this room."

Whatever anger Bella might have felt fades instantly at this evidence of Alice's genuine regret. Then, returning to what Alice has just said, she asks, "Did Edward tell you I like to read?" Bella can't help quizzing the girl, eyes narrowing with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. She's struggling to make sense of the situation, attempting to land on some certainty.

Alice's gaze drifts to the far wall, her dainty, pointed nose lifting. "He doesn't talk to anyone about his sessions." Bella is unsurprised by this but it does nothing to solve the mystery of Alice's ability to pick out the books so quickly—or to know that Bella would be in awe of this room. As if sensing this, Alice shrugs, spinning on her heel and ambling towards the book shelf nearest the door. "You don't seem the type to sit in front of a television for three hours a night."

"No," Bella grudgingly allows, shifting the stack of books in her arms. "We never owned one when I was little—it's too hard to form the habit now." She doesn't admit that they hadn't owned one because Renee had rarely had the money for gas and bills much less extravagances like a television. Besides which, given how much they tended to move, her mother had always been motivated by a desire to travel light.

"See," Alice replies, craning her head to look over her shoulder before turning back to the shelf in front of her. "You might like this one as well," she adds, almost as an afterthought though she is changing the subject entirely.

"How do you even know where they all are?" Bella marvels, shuffling over the mix of hardwoods and rich Persian rugs towards Alice's side.

Alice doesn't bother to turn, one small hand swinging vaguely behind her as the other pulls a book from the shelf, "That wall is nonfiction," then gesturing to her right, "Fiction ends there—alphabetical by author." She points to her left, "And starts over there."

"Didn't you mention first editions?" Bella's gaze ranges over the walls, noticing the mix of hardbacks with paperbacks, gold leaf emblazoned on leather next to what appear to be textbooks with bright yellow 'used' stickers still pasted to the spines.

"Oh, they're all just mixed in," Alice replies nonchalantly, her gaze still fixed on the book now splayed open in her hands. Then, before Bella can peer over her shoulder to determine what she's reading, she snaps it shut and spins on her heel, planting the book on top of the stack already weighing Bella's arms down. "I do think you'll like this one. You haven't heard of the author but she was popular at the same time as Austen."

Bella can only frown, lips moving to form questions, trying to understand how Alice could know that Bella hasn't heard of the author—uncertain whether the girl simply thinks her ignorant or if it's…something else. Before she can speak, the distant slam of a door draws her startled, horrified gaze.

"I thought you said no one would be home for hours!" Her brown eyes dart back to Alice, her cheeks suffusing with bright color.

To her credit, Alice appears just as surprised, reassuring Bella that at the very least this isn't another misleading omission. Her voice is faint when she speaks, her golden eyes wide when they swing from the door to meet Bella's gaze. "They changed their minds."

"Who?" Bella's voice is equally faint, the color draining from her face as quickly as it had bloomed bright.

"My parents."


	8. A Pretty Sure Test

Special thanks to VampiresHaveLaws, Capricorn75 and miaokuancha for recommending _Everlasting Why_ elsewhere. And thank you for taking the time to let me know you're reading. I'm trying to keep up with responses but apologize if I missed you. I know this is a short chapter so the next update will be Saturday. Thank you again.

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><p><em>The fun of it is that they think me a noodle, and say so - at least, Mr. Wilcox does - and when that happens, and one doesn't mind, it's a pretty sure test, isn't it?<em>

_Howard's End_

**seven**

Bella can't help the race of her pulse, the steady throb of blood surging from her throat to her cheeks—her hands would have trembled had they not been weighed down with the stack of books she'd nearly forgotten she was carrying. "I'm not supposed to be here," she murmurs dully, gaze blank with the realization that she is about to meet Edward Cullen's mother and father with no good pretext for being in their house.

The weight of Alice's small hand on her shoulder centers her, focusing her attention on a single point: the teenage girl's earnest, golden eyes. "It's okay. I promise—they won't think anything of it. Social workers make home visits all the time." The words are almost coming too quickly for Bella to discern, like the buzz of a bee. Bella inhales, wanting to believe Alice's reassurances though her mind screams that this is exactly what she should have expected, overstepping her bounds in this way.

"I'll just introduce you—they'll be thrilled to put a face to a name."

"But he doesn't talk about me," Bella interrupts, her voice sounding far away even to her own ears.

"Don't be silly!" Alice exclaims, her small, strong hand sliding down Bella's shoulder to hook behind her elbow. "Of course Carlisle and Esme know who you are!"

Bella can only be numbly tugged along the corridor, clutching the stack of books in her hands, suddenly certain that in her nervousness she'll drop them and cause an even bigger commotion. Far too soon, they have reached the end of the hall and the brightness of the open, modern kitchen; the two figures on the opposite side of the granite topped island are first only silhouettes, Bella's pupils adjusting to the comparatively bright light after the dim, curtained confines of the library.

Alice releases her elbow and rushes the last few steps into the kitchen, moving so quickly that she almost slides across the wide black tiles to the island. Her bright voice is already burbling forth with introductions. "Mom and Dad, this is Bella—you know, the social worker from the Community Health Center. Bella, this is Carlisle and Esme, my parents."

Bella might have blamed the many unexpected turns of the day for her inability to conceal her surprise but if she is honest, nothing could have prepared her for the shock of their appearance. Her mind echoes with the same astonished thought, the words repeating in her head in a fixed loop. She remains silent, certain that if she speaks only that refrain will burst forth: how can they be so young?

For Edward's father appears barely older than herself, golden and unspoiled. She cannot reconcile the recollection that he is a doctor with his apparent youth. It seems impossible, unless he was some sort of prodigy as a child. His features are unlined, no trace of gray in the crown of pale yellow hair that sweeps away from his forehead, no moles or age spots or other evidence of exposure to the elements apparent on his skin. Even more strangely, he shares the same amber eyes as Edward and Alice, the color unlike anything she's ever seen…but aren't the two teens adopted?

Bella shakes her head as she realizes he's speaking, forcing herself to focus. "It's a pleasure to meet you." The words are polite but Bella senses a distinct tension in the room; she can't be certain she isn't simply projecting her own discomfort and sense of unease, or, somehow…for some reason she can't detect, Alice and her parents are equally on edge.

Alice saves her from attempting to form coherent thoughts or words, her tone petulant. "I didn't think you'd be back so soon!"

"You know you can always have guests." The gentle lilt of Esme's voice is nearly hypnotizing. Bella's gaze swings from Carlisle's impossible youth to the equally astounding appearance of his wife. Esme's oval face is a cameo, pale and classically lovely; the faintest hint of pink tinges her lips, her honeyed gaze admonishing as she replies to her daughter.

Alice huffs loudly, as if this statement is ridiculous; Bella recalls with a twinge the girl's claim that she has no friends, that this is perhaps the very reason Alice had been so enthusiastic to have someone visit. Taking a deep breath, Bella resolves to make the best of the situation. "It's alright, Alice," she forces herself to speak, her voice low. Then, turning to Esme and Carlisle she struggles to keep her thoughts straight in the face of their youthful beauty. She settles on complimenting their immaculate house. "You really have a lovely home."

There is pregnant pause, as if they had not expected her to respond in this manner…as if they are bracing for something more. Just when Bella is about to speak again, to make some pointless remark about the furnishings, Esme finally breaks the silence. "Why, thank you." A hint of smile reveals straight white teeth but there is still the slightest hint of reservation in her amber gaze, her hands tightly clasped before her. Bella doesn't blame the woman for her hesitancy; when Alice's mother had mentioned guests, she'd likely imagined fellow teenagers rather than a twenty-something social worker.

"And the library is amazing," Bella's gaze darts between the two Cullens, suddenly wanting very much to put them at their ease and wishing that she could somehow have met them under more typical circumstances.

Alice nearly bounces on her toes, as if deciding to ignore the awkward tension. "I knew she'd like it."

The slightest hint of a smile dances at the corner of Carlisle's mouth before his features smooth. Bella wonders at the reaction, but is distracted by the remembrance of the load of books in her arms. "Of course, Alice was being incredibly generous to offer to lend me so many books but I couldn't possibly—"

She is shifting towards the island as if to set the books down, no longer comfortable with the idea of borrowing them without knowing whether Alice has permission to hand them out. Perhaps this is the source of the tension?

But they are all suddenly speaking, a cacophony of protests, Alice's soprano surprisingly vehement while Esme leans forward, shaking her head, the slightest line forming between her fine brows. However, it is Carlisle who is loudest, raising a hand as he insists, "No, please. You must borrow as many as you like."

"After all, the won't get read for another hundred years otherwise," Alice snorts.

Bella's gaze darts among their figures, trying to ascertain if they're all simply being polite. "If you're sure?" She still feels uncertain, not wanting to take advantage of Alice's loneliness.

"Absolutely," Carlisle's features finally relax into a smile and she is instantly reassured, a load seeming to lift from her shoulders.

"Well…thank you." She can't help smiling in return and whatever tension had been hovering over the room finally seems to dissipate. There is a visible difference in Carlisle and Esme's stance, their limbs less stiff, faint smiles lingering on their pale features. Bella is made bold by this sudden ease, offering, "And I'm sorry we're meeting under such unexpected circumstances."

"Oh?" Esme's voice is mild, brows lifting ever so slightly. "Don't social workers make home visits all the time?"

Bella is caught off guard by a sense of déjà vu for Alice had said the same thing only minutes before. Her mouth opens but she can't think of a response.

"I think I've already kept Bella too long," Alice saves her from her typical awkward inability to make conversation, stepping forward to take the books from her arms. "I'll carry these—I know they must be getting heavy."

"Right." Bella is unable to manage anything more intelligent, following the petite girl into the living room, across the plush carpets and to the front door. It is only when Carlisle reaches for the door knob ahead of his daughter that she realizes he and Esme are on their heels.

"Let me get that for you." He opens the door wide, one pale hand fixed on the knob. Esme steps into place at his side and his free hand lifts almost automatically, as if magnetically drawn to her, draping over her shoulder. The gesture seems one borne of years of familiarity and intimacy, devoted and sweet and utterly normal.

Bella finds herself drawing to a sudden halt; it is not so much a conscious decision as it is an impulse she can't control, possessed by the need to speak, to say something…though she is not quite sure what. Alice pauses just over the threshold, pale features questioning as she looks back over her shoulder. Bella's gaze flits between their three figures, her cheeks slowly filling with color as she realizes she's awkwardly extending her farewell. "It was nice to meet you," she finally blurts out, thrusting a hand forward.

It is only when Carlisle pulls his arm from Esme's shoulder that she realizes he'd had no hands free and she is almost forcing him into the formal gesture. She momentarily thinks about shoving her hand into her pocket but his cold, firm grip is already surrounding her own; she is astonished by the coolness but forces herself to follow through, returning his grasp and shaking once, twice.

Feeling it would be rude to leave out Edward's mother, she turns to Esme as Carlisle's hand falls away. Bella doesn't understand the surprise evident in Esme's expression and wonders for the longest second if she'll make an excuse for refraining; Bella is already composing her features in expectation of the rejection, promising herself she will not appear at all dubious at claims of germaphobia, or some other flimsy reason. But Esme's pale manicured hand is darting forward, briefly, almost shyly taking Bella's, before darting back to her side.

Bella can only think that it is like ducking her hand in a sink full of ice but her mind is too tumultuous to note the thought, absorbed in the sudden, strange desire she has to be liked by these two people, to have them know that she is on their side—that she wants, more than anything, to help their son. "I-I just want you to know," the words jerk forth, a nervous stutter, "I think Edward's really misunderstood."

The slight surprise and worry that was still evident in Esme's expression instantly melts away, her gaze softening with unreserved warmth and something akin to understanding. Despite the hesitation with which she had just taken Bella's hand moments before, Esme reaches forward, amber gaze almost affectionate. A slender hand briefly rests on Bella's shoulder and her voice is quiet and terribly sad when she speaks. "I'm so glad you can see him for who he really is."

Just as Bella is wondering if there's some way they can extend the conversation despite her presence at the threshold of their door, to somehow turn this into a true home visit and obtain more information on her client, Alice pipes up, "Edward's going to be home soon."

"What?" Bella's voice is a gasp. While Carlisle and Esme have been surprisingly kind at such an unexpected guest, she cannot imagine that Edward would be pleased to find her here in his home. The gravity of her situation returns and she stumbles onto the porch. "How do you—"

"We should get going. Now." Alice is already rushing down the porch steps to her vintage car, somehow shouldering the books with one hand as she throws open the driver's side door.

Bella can only call over her shoulder, "Thank you for the books!"

Carlisle and Esme have followed them to the topmost stair, his arm having returned to his wife's shoulder. He lifts his free hand in a wave. "Any time," he calls as the engine guns into life.

"Hurry, Bella," Alice's voice is a firm order—and full of an authority that is usually unheard of in teenagers.

Too full of questions to know where to begin, Bella simply swings into the passenger seat and has barely managed to buckle her seat belt before they are barreling down the gravel drive, briefly cast into shadow by the canopy of enormous evergreens, and back to the road.

"I really didn't think they'd be home," Alice's voice is genuinely apologetic. "They said they were going to Astoria to shop for antiques—they should have been gone all day."

"But they changed their minds?" Bella recalls Alice's words and is unsurprised when her dark head turns from the road, amber eyes narrow and hard.

"Yeah, I got a text—"

"When would you have gotten a text?" They'd been in the library together for no more than a few minutes.

"When you were still making up your mind about coming into the house." Bella knows it is a lie but she cannot think how to prove it—at least, not without demanding Alice's phone and examining the history.

"Then you planned for me to meet them?" Bella's voice is doubtful; Alice's surprise had been genuine at the time—it had been part of the reason Bella hadn't felt any anger at the situation.

"Look, it turned out okay in the end," Alice attempts to cut short Bella's questions. "They liked you and you liked them—it's all copacetic."

Bella can't help frowning, unable to shake the feeling that she fell into some sort of greater plan that she can't yet see the shape of—and unable to trust that this young, spry girl should be at the helm. But she also can't see the point of arguing; her blunder is past and Alice is correct—no harm was done.

"They seem like lovely people."

Alice's expression softens. "They really are. They're both pretty extraordinary."

"You've been with them a long time?" Bella can't help the prying question, wanting to understand something more of Alice's—and Edward's past.

Alice shifts uneasily in her seat. "Yeah, a long time."

Bella instantly feels the awkwardness of pushing too far and changes the subject, "You'll have to thank them again for the books."

Alice visibly relaxes. "Oh, I will! But I promise you, it's no trouble." Then, as an afterthought she adds, "Don't worry too much about Edward. He'll mostly be annoyed with me, and he'll get over that in a day or two after he's had time to cool down."

Bella's lips thin, recalling the complication that had sent them hurrying from the house. "Perhaps you can tell him…" she hesitates, not sure what message to convey. She wishes she could apologize, or explain—but she doesn't want to make Alice feel any guiltier for having lured her out to their house. Finally she says, "Tell him I'll see him at our next appointment."

Alice flashes a grin in Bella's direction then announces, "We're nearly back to the library. Isn't it too funny you had to go elsewhere for a decent selection of books?"

Bella can only manage a wry smile in response, somehow unsurprised at the girl's amused perception of the entire afternoon. While she feels as if she's somehow run an obstacle course, Alice appears to see the whole thing as an entertaining lark. As much as she likes the teenager, she realizes she's going to be wary of her in the future.

"Here we are!" Alice slides into the parking lot of the modest library, throwing the Corvair into park and leaning into the back seat to gather up the books. "You can't forget these!" Bella nods her head in agreement, allowing Alice to stack the books in her arms. "And I won't say 'good-bye' because I'm sure I'll see you soon enough," she adds brightly.

"Alright, Alice," Bella smiles. "I'll see you." She awkwardly nudges the door handle with her elbow, arms now full of books, carefully stepping onto the pavement and swinging her hip to push the passenger side door closed behind her. She watches as the vintage car sweeps out of the lot, Alice waving one last time from behind the wheel before disappearing down the street. It is only then that Bella glances down at the stack of books, wondering what Alice could have possibly selected for her without knowing anything about her reading habits. Her eyes instantly flare wide, gaze fixed on the topmost book…for it is the novel she had been reading when Alice first surprised her in the public library…a leather bound version of the volume she had thought the teenager failed to notice after Bella quickly shoved it back onto the shelf.

_Where Angels Fear to Tread_.


	9. Troubled

Thank you again for your reviews and apologies to anyone I didn't get a chance to respond to.

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><p>"<em>At last," thought she, "I shall understand myself. I shan't again be troubled by things that come out of nothing, and mean I don't know what."<em>

_A Room with a View_

**eight**

The dark brown of her gaze is fixed but her eyes do not see, the dial of the washing machine a smeared blur, insignificant in the face of her internal turmoil.

The laundry room is more of a closet than a room, wedged beneath the staircase, a single bulb set into the slanted ceiling. The dated machines take up the entirety of one wall, a single hamper she never uses pushed into the far corner. A lone container of powdered soap perches atop the dryer, the bright packaging made dull by the yellow of the overhead bulb.

Bella stands, hands braced upon the washing machine, lost in thought for the umpteenth time that day. She has been unable to concentrate on anything, failing to lose herself in any of the many books lent to her by the Cullens, or to clean the kitchen, or sweep the porch without growing still, completely preoccupied by her thoughts. In a huff, she had begun stripping her bed, unable to remember the last time she'd changed her sheets. But now she's frozen, caught up in the memories of the previous day, of Edward's three sessions with her at the center, trying to make sense of the mystery he presents—to fix on some point that will explain the multitude of unusual things she's noticed: the precociousness of he and Alice, the youth of their foster parents, the entirety of the strange encounter yesterday…But she knows these things can be explained away. Edward and Alice's intelligence and maturity isn't uncommon among children exposed at too young an age to matters usually reserved for adults…and given Esme and Carlisle aren't their biological parents, their young age isn't material. Of course, there's the fact of Carlisle's practice at the hospital…

In this way, her mind goes in loops, fixating on the quirks she'd noted in Edward or Alice's presence, or while at the Cullen house…then reminding herself most of it can be totally rationalized…before tripping up on yet another piece that doesn't quite fit.

And beneath it all, a quiet voice whispers that there is only one reason for her fixation…her fascination…and that she is treading on dangerous ground.

With an exasperated sigh, Bella's eyes regain focus and she cranks the dial of the washing machine, setting off its loud, thumping dance. She spins, flinging herself out of the room. Pausing in the corridor, restlessness coursing through her muscles, she struggles to think of one thing, anything, that will distract her from her thoughts. Her mouth set, she turns to the front door, grabbing her coat from the nearby hook, before spinning again and heading to the rear of the house.

She doesn't bother to lock the back door behind her as she tumbles down the few steps to the mossy yard, her hair streaming behind her as she rushes into the woods. The gray of the sky is lighter than what she has become accustomed to, a pall that is nearly cream in color; she can almost convince herself the cloud cover might part if the sun's rays were strong enough. Soon however, the crowd of tree limbs thrusts her into a dim half-light, the trail still damp with rainfall from the previous night.

Hands thrust into her pockets, Bella's gaze soon assumes the unfocused quality indicating her thoughts, her sight, is elsewhere. She nearly stumbles several times, feet catching on gnarled tree roots made visible by erosion, large stones half covered in lichen, dips in the ground where the perpetual rain has worn away the earth.

She has been walking for nearly twenty minutes when she stops, as if coming to a sudden realization. Her lips move with the faintest murmur, the words unintelligible to all but the finest of hearing. "Does it really matter?"

Does it matter that Edward is so mature and intelligent—more so than any teenager she's encountered? Does Alice's quirkiness, so dark and fey, really matter? Or his parents youth? Or his father's practice? Does any of it matter? She has been struggling and straining to understand, to construct some story to explain the reason for all of it— but does any of that matter? Bella's gaze grows clear with the realization that the only thing that matters, the only thing she should care about is understanding why the court ordered Edward to be seen for mental health counseling—to help him as she's been trained to do.

Long lashes sweep over her gaze, denying the thought that her desire to help him is driven by something more, something deeper. She abruptly shakes her head, tendrils of chestnut hair tumbling over her shoulders with the movement. Her eyes narrow, filled with stubborn resolve. If she lets go of her curiosity, of her urge to make sense of everything she doesn't understand, then she can finally begin to help him as she's meant to do.

With this final thought, she spins on her heel, returning down the winding trail to her father's house.

Perhaps she shouldn't have been surprised that, despite coming to this resolution, despite the past experience of three sessions, and the reasonable expectation that Edward would likely be more antagonistic than usual given her unplanned visit to his home, he manages to dismantle her composure within seconds of walking through the door of her minuscule office.

"I just wanted to apologize."

The first crack appears in Bella's carefully composed mask, a slight furrow wrinkling her brow. The words are not a joke, Edward's expression filled with remorse as he stoops, lowering himself to the stool before her desk almost hesitantly. "What—why…" She stops herself, the confused words cut short. Inhaling deeply, she somehow finds a source of calm, the furrow smoothing before she speaks again. "The apology should be mine."

The slightest grin flits around Edward's lips, amusement darting across his gaze. "Now, don't hog the moral high ground."

"I wasn't—I mean—" Bella again speaks before she thinks, caught off guard by his humorous teasing. The faintest flush steals along her jawline at how easily he throws her off balance, how easily her composure has slipped. She inhales again, her eyes briefly closing before the porcelain of her features again smooths. "I hope that's not how it appears."

Edward's brows quirk, as if confused by her determination to appear unflappable, before he wryly replies, "Of course not. If anyone should be truly sorry, it's probably Alice. But I feel it's partly my fault for unleashing my sister on you."

Bella's composure slips again, unwilling to completely castigate Alice for her actions. Her gaze falls to her lap, pale hands twisting uneasily. She hesitates but finally voices her thoughts, knowing this truth is likely evident to Edward. "She's lonely."

Edward's voice is sharp, drawing her eyes up. "She knew you had no idea where she was taking you. That's inexcusable."

It is Bella's turn to feel wryly amused, partly astonished that he's so defensive on her behalf and partly because she's now in the position of excusing Alice's behavior again. "Yeah, well, your family's library is pretty amazing."

The effect is as she intended, surprise crossing his features before she sees her own humor reflected there. "She said you liked it."

"I was awestruck, if that's what you mean." Edward's gaze drops to the floor, as if he's aware of, and uncomfortable with the discrepancy between the Cullen's wealth and the lower to middle class norms of the surrounding town and county.

His voice is nearly a mutter when he speaks, his forefinger restlessly circling his thumb. "It's the result of years of collecting."

Bella is eager to agree, not wishing to make him uncomfortable about his family's obvious monetary comfort. "And I expect because of your dad's profession," she adds. Edward's amber gaze darts up, questioning. She elucidates, continuing, "All that training. I imagine there would be a ton of reading material from his schooling alone."

Edward nods, a small smile flashing across his lips. "What's more, he can't bring himself to part with books—other things perhaps, but not books."

"Ever?" Bella wonders.

Edward shakes his head, the smile returning and, impossibly, growing wider. "He makes the claim that it's of benefit to see how the medical profession develops."

"And even reverses itself," Bella muses as she tilts her head, understanding Carlisle's reasoning.

"Exactly," Edward agrees with a sharp nod. "And some of them are kept for sentimental value."

"First editions and the like?" Bella asks, wiggling the pen in her hand.

"Not necessarily," Edward shakes his head. "More so…" he pauses, his gaze falling to the floor again.

Bella waits patiently, then gently asks, "Gifts? Or…bought while traveling?"

Edward's eyes do not lift. "You might say that." He pauses again but the silence is not uncomfortable, Bella contemplating his still figure while Edward ponders. He finally continues, "My mother is the most guilty of sentimentality." A smile plays over the corners of his mouth and Bella pushes away the thought that he could easily have a girlfriend if he were at all inclined to pursue someone his own age. "She says that books are memories—not only of the stories themselves, but of who she was, how she felt, what she was going through at the time that she read them."

Bella nods, unsurprised that the woman she'd met the previous Saturday held such a belief. There had been something so feeling about Esme, despite the tension and awkwardness of the encounter, and despite the brevity of their meeting. "What does she do?" Bella asks, simply curious and speaking the thought aloud, not meaning to pry.

"Interior design—mostly consulting with homeowners and small offices over in Seattle," Edward lightly explains. Bella is relieved he is not put off by the question.

"The commute must be hard."

Edward shrugs. "She manages a lot of it via email, video conference—"

"How high-tech—video conferencing at home?" Bella marvels, brown eyes wide.

Edward shrugs again, "She prefers to be at home…with us," Edward's words slow, as if realizing how much he is revealing. His gaze cuts away as he adds, "So Carlisle and I try to make it as easy as possible for her to have the best of both worlds."

"You mean you set things up?" Bella hasn't forgotten the hacker abilities he'd referenced in his second session, but forces her tone to remain neutral, unaccusing.

Edward nods, the word brisk. "Right." A faint frown crosses his pale brow before he continues, trying to explain, "It's how I help…one of the things I contribute."

It's Bella's turn to frown, not quite understanding. Seeing this, Edward's gaze lifts to the ceiling, as if seeking the words there. "We all have our…our way of helping the family—our role."

Bella's expression softens but she struggles to hide the reaction, her voice merely quiet when she asks, "Do you feel you need to contribute because you're adopted?"

Amber eyes snap to Bella's face, wide with surprise. His lips part but he doesn't speak at first, as if struggling with how to explain. When the words come, they are a protest, his voice insistent, defending without defensiveness. "No. No. Never." He shakes his head, eyes briefly closing. "They took us in with no question, gave no thought to the danger we presented." Bella's eyes widen at this, wanting to question him but not daring to interrupt. "But I know we—Alice and I—we provide something to them, too." His eyes close again, squeezing shut as if saying the words is physically difficult. "So there is no sense of obligation, no feeling of recompense as to why I contribute what I do."

Bella is silent, uncertain of where to begin. Her features are still though her thoughts swirl, the pen unmoving in her hand as Edward sits tensely opposite her desk. Waves of torment seem to roll off his frame; his head is downcast, eyes closed, almost as if waiting for a blow. When Bella breaks the silence, it is not to satiate her curiosity, to try to understand that which is unclear…for she recalls her resolution of the day before. Instead, she only murmurs, "You're very lucky."

Edward's demeanor instantly eases, exhaling as his shoulders sag. "I know I am." His lashes sweep up though his eyes do not lift from the floor.

Several seconds pass in additional silence before he speaks again, his voice rueful as he addresses the floor, "I always say too much when I'm talking to you."

A small smile flits over Bella's mouth, her tone nearly playful when she replies, "Isn't that the reason we're here?"

Edward laughs but the sound is harsh, self-mocking. "I told you, there's no helping me."

Bella can't help leaning forward across her desk, protesting, "I can't believe that's true."

Edward's golden eyes finally lift from the tiled floor. There is something hard and unyielding in his gaze. "You're wrong."

Bella's brow furrows, her mouth opening to protest again, but she recalls his question from his second visit, a single word from their exchange that day echoing in her mind: redemption. Her mouth snaps shut and she is quiet a moment, considering her words. When she speaks, her voice is pointed as she asks, "Because of something you did in your past?" Redemption implies sin, past wrongs that can only be made right through atonement. She doesn't allow Edward to answer, adhering to her promise to see his past as inconsequential. "Everyone has done things—things others might find unforgivable. But don't you think that what you do now, how you act from here on out, matters much more?"

Edward's touseled head tilts as she speaks, his expression filling with a strangely intense curiosity. There is a long silence but his expression does not shift, as if he is examining her, calculating something she cannot fathom. His voice is very deliberate when he replies. "What if it's not what I've done, but who I am?"

Bella stills, fighting with every fiber of her being the impulse to question, to query, to pry. She realizes her hands are trembling and lays them flat against the surface of the worn desk to cease the movement, staring down at her fingers with a sense of helplessness. She is surprised by the sorrow and distress she feels at his words, wondering why she can't maintain the necessary distance with him, why his self-loathing affects her so strongly. As her dark eyes lift from her desk, she cannot hide these emotions, her gaze pleading as she considers him with a sad, level stare. When she asks the question, it is not about his case file, it is not about his past—it is about understanding what he wants from these sessions—what he wants from her. "Then why are you here, Edward?"

He leans back on the stool, his expression smoothing as he regards her steadily. "To see you, of course."

Bella's heart speeds at the response, her sadness overwhelmed by sudden anger. An internal fight is evident in her expression, in her frame, her fingers pressing into the desk as if she is forcing herself to remain seated, lips tightening as a line forms between her brows. Anger wins out over calm, dark eyes flashing as she nearly snaps, "Don't be inappropriate."

"How is that inappropriate?" Edward calmly asks, a single brow lifting.

Bella's mouth opens and closes, thinking back over what he's just said.

She thinks of morning glories, the tight furl of the single petal, a trumpet when blossoming.

A flush steals up her throat as a lazy smile circles his lips, fully aware that she's caught—that he has done nothing blatant enough to warrant her admonition. Bella warms with an emotion she can't name, knowing she hasn't mistaken his manner, his tone. His anger when he noticed the forget-me-nots on her desk was not due to a hatred of the flowers, after all.

"I can always ask that you see Janet instead," her voice is low, her gaze steady.

"Then I'll stop coming," he promptly responds.

"You're manipulating me."

"Did you really mean it?"

Her gaze drops as she realizes she did not. Frustration steals over her, tensing her shoulders, furrowing her forehead. Her hands form into fists and she draws them to her lap, not wanting to show how much he affects her. The feeling that she is out of her element, battling an expert fencer with a balloon sword, comes over her. Her frustration increases with the knowledge that this is not the first time she's felt that way with him.

Edward's voice is gently amused when he speaks, "You've got a bit of a temper, don't you?"

His amusement somehow deflates her anger as suddenly as it came, wanting to snort at his observation. After all, he is the only one who has ever witnessed her temper, the only person around whom she cannot maintain the calm and reserve that is the norm for her interactions with everyone else in the world. Her shoulders sag as she realizes she must cede this battle to him. "It's a well kept secret," she finally responds dryly, lifting a hand to fiddle with the pen on her desk.

"That Bella Swan has feelings?" he asks. His tone is light but the statement might have been a blow for her reaction, sucking in a breath as her gaze flies to his. The color drains from her face as she absorbs his words, numbness stealing over her frame, the pen she had reclaimed nearly dropping from her hand. She is shocked by his insight, shocked by this darted truth, unable to understand how this boy can see into the heart of her and call out these things she can barely acknowledge to herself. He pretends not to notice her distress, averting his eyes to the wall as she struggles to catch her breath. When he speaks next, it is almost with regret. "Our time is nearly up."

Bella's heart calls out the seconds for several silent beats before she manages a quiet, "Ah, yes." Her expression is blank, her composure utterly undone.

"Until next week," Edward softly replies, rising to his full height. Her eyes are unfocused, his departure a blur to her gaze.

When she ducks through the fire door at the rear of the center that night, she is still distracted, hefting her backpack into the cab of her truck before climbing into the driver's seat. It is only after she starts the engine that she spies the violet petals, the delicate blossoms resting against the damp wind shield, dark and bruised where they press against the glass.

Bella's lips part, her hand freezing on the key in the ignition. She blinks, as if expecting the flowers to disappear, a mirage. When they fail to do so, she quickly shoves open the door and hops down from the cab. For several seconds, she gazes at the flowers with wide eyes, her breath visible puffs of white before her lips in the cool evening air. The green of the slender stems is nearly lost in the weak light, caught under the wiper blade. Without thinking, she stretches up with hesitant hands, carefully lifting the wiper and retrieving the bunch of forget-me-nots. Her heart is pounding in her chest as her breathing accelerates, noting the rough twine that loosely holds the blooms together.

She thinks of his long fingers, his pale hands, looping the string, pulling it tight.

A gasp escapes her lips, fire blooming in her cheeks as her free hand forms a fist, nails digging into her palm. "No, no, no, no, no," the word is a murmur, a desperate plea. But she cannot deny the thought, or the longing feeling that had accompanied it. Her eyes close, her chin dropping to her chest. She knows she is speaking to no one and, what's more, no one will hear.


	10. Dreadful

Thank you so much for all of your reviews, and to mallmouse for the recommendation on A Different Forest.

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><p><em>How dreadful if she really wished to remain near him!<em>

_A Room with a View_

**nine**

Seth Clearwater scratches his chin as he hunches over his homework, the desk too small for his lanky frame. His black hair has the faintest shine, as if he has not bothered to wash it for several days. Garbed in jeans and a flannel, the clothes appear rumpled, as if retrieved from the floor. The shirt tail of the flannel is unevenly tucked into the jeans, bulging in spots and spilling over at the back. The faintest shadow dusks his upper lip and he occasionally rubs his forefinger there, as if the sensation is novel and distracting.

Bella watches him covertly as Lissa reads aloud from _Black Beauty_, noticing a dozen different elements of his appearance and mannerisms that she'd never picked up on before. In studying the Quileute teenager, it is that much more apparent to her that Edward is a creature apart; for all of the casual nature of the jeans and hoodies Edward has typically worn to their sessions, he is almost unnaturally neat, no dirt evident under his nails, his jaw naked of stubble, his clothing free of holes or stains.

A knot forms in Bella's stomach as she realizes she is trying to justify the strange draw she feels towards her client, that she is looking for excuses for the feelings she has only begun to acknowledge after their most recent meeting. What does it matter if every other boy his age fails to make her feel as Edward does? A flush steals up her throat as she thinks of the forget-me-nots; she had been unable to throw them away, the wilting blooms tucked into a drinking glass filled with water on the nightstand in her bedroom.

"And there was poor Rory with his flesh torn open and bleeding, and the blood streaming down." Lissa's voice grows faint with the words and Bella is abruptly drawn back to the reality of the class room, the dull light of the late morning, and the dark haired little girl before her.

"Would you rather skip this part?" Bella gently asks, sensing Lissa's discomfort with the violent imagery.

"Yeah, maybe," she slowly nods her head, black hair swinging. Her small fingers turn through the pages, jumping ahead further into the book. Her voice duly continues as she finds a new spot, slowly working through the text. Bella is soon again distracted by her thoughts, by covert glances in Seth Clearwater's direction, and by the helpless, frustrated feeling that she has utterly lost her way.

A shaft of sunlight blooms through the window, warmly yellow and unexpectedly bright. Bella's head turns, drawn like a flower towards this rare sight, trying to recall the last time she saw blue sky as more than a briefly revealed patch through relentless clouds. She thinks of Phoenix, the dry air and sprawling freeways, the barren ridge of mountains rising to skies so azure, they're almost blinding. She imagines herself back there, finding work in another clinic, putting all of this behind her…

"…but I have only taken out six days license," Lissa's voice is a drone, "and therefore I could not take a fare on a Sunday; it would not be legal." Bella starts at this final word, her head darting up with a sudden idea. Her eyes slowly widen as she recalls one source of information she has not seen—information directly tied to her role as Edward's social worker. Hope darts through her veins, wondering if this will give her the ability to push past this ridiculous fascination, to reclaim the distance she needs if she is to have any chance of helping him.

The minutes cannot pass quickly enough, struggling to refrain from impatiently drumming her fingers against the arm of her chair as Lissa reads and Seth completes his calculus homework. When their time is up, she can barely nod at Seth's invitation to attend the first bonfire of the spring before she is swinging out the door and down the steps of the trailer, almost forgetting to lock the door behind her.

The sun has only brightened since that first ray broke through, the last stray clouds like wisps of cotton upon the horizon, breaking apart in the warm light. Bella squints through the windshield as she turns down the highway, foot firmly pressed to the gas pedal, pushing the ancient engine harder than she ever has before.

Her mind races with the possibilities, barely aware of the passing whisk of evergreens towering on either side of the road, uncaring of the unusual sunshine as she wheels towards Port Angeles. The hour it takes to reach the seaside town feels eternal, her bottom lip gnawed raw with the expectant anxiety she feels.

Unerringly, she turns away from the marina and tourist attractions where most of the town's traffic is headed. She is grateful the streets are logically arranged in a grid as she is not certain she would otherwise have been able to find the address she has seen stamped onto hundreds of case files and scribbled into dozens of juvenile delinquency records: Clallam County Courthouse.

A dart of momentary surprise crosses Bella's face when she reaches the officious, classic building, unaware such a small town could boast such an intimidating structure. A mass of red brick, its lofty bell tower and prominent clock face are vaguely Victorian in appearance, newly blooming trees obscuring its corners. As she turns into the parking lot, all of these observations are subsumed by worry as she sees there are almost no cars present. She grimaces as she throws the old truck into park, hopping down from the cab.

But she is in luck. Though most of the offices and courts are closed for the weekend, the records department has shortened business hours on Saturdays. This is clearly contradictory to the desires of the records clerk standing at the reception window, her expression baleful as she glances up at Bella's hesitant approach.

"Can I help you?" she snaps. She does not appear much older than Bella, her curly hair teased into a halo around her head, blue eyes framed in black liner.

"Hello," Bella begins, her voice soft, eyes cast to the floor as her courage and certainty falters for the first time. "I'm here from the Clallam Community Health Center—"

The woman doesn't allow her to finish, "Do you have identification?"

Bella doesn't respond, simply doing as she is bid and digging into her pocket for her wallet. She pulls out her license and the employee badge she'd been issued when she began interning; she had yet to have reason to use it as her role had been almost entirely dedicated to auditing files.

"And what can I help you with?" the woman asks with the slightest sniff, apparently satisfied.

"A file was supposed to be delivered," Bella begins again.

"We can't be responsible for the postal service failing to deliver things," the records clerk interrupts, her tone derisive as she folds her hands on the counter before her. Her nails are long and manicured, the color bright pink.

"I—of course," Bella allows. "I was hoping to pick it up in person." As the woman's brows lower, she quickly adds, "This is a client that was court ordered to be seen for counseling at the health center. He's been…difficult to treat without the full record."

"What's the name?" Bella exhales with relief and quietly provides the information, blushing as she confirms Edward's date of birth—she hadn't realized until that moment that she remembered it unaided.

"Let me just check in back," the clerk replies, sashaying away from the counter to the stacks of shelves and file cabinets behind her. She disappears around a corner and Bella is momentarily filled with the certainty that she will return with nothing, that, somehow, the file will have gone missing entirely. Her hands grow clammy as the minutes pass, heart pounding as the clerk continues to fail to appear. Finally, the woman's plump figure turns the corner and Bella hisses out a breath at the sight of the file in her manicured hand.

"Here you go, Miss Swan."

Bella barely restrains herself from snatching the thick manila envelope from the woman's fingers, murmuring, "Thank you," as she turns on her heel and rushes out the door. Her sneakered feet pound through the courthouse corridors, the high ceilings and empty space creating an eerie echo. When she reaches the tall double doors of the courthouse entrance her pulse is racing.

Bella only notices the continued sunshine because she is forced to squint upon exiting the building, lifting a hand to shade her eyes. She swiftly trots down the wide steps and nearly runs to her truck, marooned in the empty concrete lot. It is only when she is in the cab, the door closed, her breath loud in her ears, that she allows herself to stare down at the envelope, eyes wide.

Slowly, heart pounding, she slides a finger along the sealed flap, tearing it open. She reaches inside, retrieving the file, her heart a relentless thump in her ears. For the briefest second, a surge of hesitation causes her fingers to tremble…but this is not his diary, or some illegally obtained record she is not at liberty to see. She reminds herself she is not violating his privacy in seeking out the information she was supposed to have all along. And perhaps this—this record of truancy or vandalizing…or even underage drinking—will drive home that he is a teenager, an immature kid, a confused adolescent…not some object of fascination and longing.

Bella flips open the beige file folder and sees the demographic information Edward easily provided at his first appointment: name, address, date of birth, and his previous address in Cantwell, Alaska. Turning to the next few pages, she sees the truancy filing that Margery had mentioned as the reason for his first court ordered sessions. A written note explains the board's unusual recommendation that Edward be seen for counseling since, despite missing more than two months of school, he was not in need of the usual tutoring or other academic interventions; as Margery had said, he had been excelling in all of his classes.

Bella's breathing accelerates as she turns to the next paper-clipped record, her hands trembling as she sets aside the truancy file. She skims the page but her mind is initially unable to absorb the meaning of the words; her eyes dart up, starting over, trying to make sense of what she is reading. As she reads the file a third time, her chest grows still, unaware she has stopped breathing.

Animal cruelty in the first degree.

She thinks of a record skipping, the needle rising and falling over the same ridge again and again.

Animal cruelty in the first degree.

Her eyes rise to the top of the page, confirming that it is Edward's name on the record. A sudden gasp explodes from her mouth as her lungs force her to inhale for the first time in more than twenty seconds, the file nearly dropping from her hands. Her fingers stubbornly tighten, lifting the pages to her gaze again, forcing herself to scan the words.

Animal cruelty in the first degree.

Brown eyes sink shut as her lips tighten. Could he…? But there must be some explanation… Almost desperately, she opens her eyes and begins hungrily reading every word of the filing, trying to comprehend the truth before her.

Unfortunately, because the case had not gone to a formal court arraignment but had instead been heard by the Diversion Unit, there was no opportunity for Edward to plead innocent or guilty. Bella knows from the many files she has examined as an intern at the health center that the Clallam County Diversion Unit provides an expedited process for handling the cases of first time felons; though it's cheaper than going through a lengthy, formal court process, it assumes the guilt of the offender and recommends a penalty rather than providing a clear back and forth of evidence, testimony, or witness accounts. Bella flips through the file and finds the Diversion Agreement, the contract an offender must sign promising to follow through on whatever penalty is advised. She sucks in a breath at seeing the mental health counseling she has been attempting to provide as the Unit's recommendation, and Edward's elegant signature.

Bella doesn't know whether she's relieved or disappointed to find the officer's incident report behind the agreement, her heart pounding as she continues to read. Though the account is dry and factual, she can nearly see the woods of the Olympic National Forest, the curve of the rarely used trail, and the strangely quiet boy standing over the still warm body of the deer.

She lifts a shaking hand to her mouth, knowing there is no gaping hole in the report through which she can find relief. There had been no one else present and no reason to think the carcass might have been there for some time. Her hand shifts to her eyes, covering them as if she can somehow make the truth disappear along with the words before her gaze. She doesn't realize the file has slipped from her hands to the gritty floor of the cab until she lifts her head more than thirty minutes later.

Bella does not see the bright blue day beyond the windshield of the truck, brown eyes unfocused as her pale face turns blindly towards the sun. She is numb, in shock, her hands cold and unfeeling as she fumbles for the latch of the door and slides down from the cab. Though it is warm out, she shoves her hands in the pockets of her jacket, chin dropping to her chest as her feet turn in no particular direction. She wanders, a sleepwalker, the immediate world a dream, completely lost in thought.

The passage of time is meaningless in the face of such knowledge. At one point, finally warm with the ceaseless movement of her feet upon the pavement, she takes off her jacket, draping the garment over her arm. She pauses occasionally: at the ferry terminal, watching cars unload from the blazing white ship; beneath the drooping branches of a Douglas fir in Francis Street Park; at a café when she momentarily remembers that she hasn't eaten since that morning…but she can't focus long enough to decide if she is hungry, continuing on her directionless path.

She wants to scream. She wants to cry. She wants to tear out her hair and curse until her face is blue. But who can she scream at, or cry to, or curse? This is her fault, her broken brain's fault, for finally feeling something…anything, for the entirely wrong person. She silently rails at herself when threads of doubt attempt to break through, whispering at the back of her mind… Perhaps he had been hunting and was only guilty of doing so without a license? Perhaps a bear or cougar was at fault and Edward's approach had frightened the predator away? After all, no knife was found, the incident report stating a weapons possession charge would not be filed in the absence of evidence…

But she knows she is being ridiculous…worse than ridiculous—absolutely reckless. She has read through dozens of charges, audited too many files to count, and never experienced this insane doubtfulness, this desire to pardon the terrible things she's encountered. She should not be making excuses for him; she should be trying to figure out how to help him. Her lips tremble as she realizes she is clinging to this useless rationalizing for the worst, selfish reasons…that she is failing him and what's more, herself.

Bella has no idea of the time when she finally becomes aware of her surroundings. The sun has begun to sink below the horizon, clouds stretching across the sky as if following its descent. The customary gloom of the peninsula has again taken hold, her shadow disappearing as the brightness of the day fades.

She glances around, attempting to get her bearings. Though she has no desire to go home, she knows there are no answers for her here. Peering towards the street corner, she struggles to make out the sign. A shout draws her attention before her eyes can focus on the number.

There is a commotion at the bar across the street. The tavern is small, a typical back street dive where tourists are unlikely to go. Men throng outside, some smoking, others watching tensely as two figures jostle, shoving at each other. She cannot make out their features, back lit by the glowing neon logos of domestic beers, garish and bright against the darkened plate glass windows.

"Fuck you, you son of a bitch!" Bella's eyes grow wide and she involuntarily steps back despite the fact that she is across the narrow street.

"Don't touch me, you little shit!" There is more jostling, the two figures continuing to spar. Some of the other men move forward to intervene, attempting to hold back one of the would-be fighters, a tall barrel of a man in a flannel shirt.

"What are you going to do about it?" His opponent has black hair, his frame squat and muscled in a tee shirt that strains at his shoulders. He feints at the man in flannel, who flinches. The man with black hair laughs triumphantly in response, turning to the growing crowd filtering out of the bar with raised arms. "That's what I thought!" He turns again and is now facing the street; Bella is shocked to see his gaze alight on her, his grin slowly growing wide. She looks away, hoping he'll forget she's there…but when her gaze lifts back to the bar, she sees he is approaching, crossing the street, lips parting as if to speak to her.

But the man in flannel is behind him, rushing up, features twisted as he appears to lightly tap his adversary on the back.

The black haired man's smile fades, a confused frown taking its place. He stumbles mid-stride, nearly to the curb. Bella watches, frozen, as blood spills from his parted lips, richly red. He is sinking to his knees, crimson spilling down his throat to the white fabric of his shirt, reaching one hand towards her.

The crowd rushes forward, shouting, crying out, a dark mass seizing the man in flannel. Several people sink to their knees around the injured body lying prone on the concrete of the empty street, barking into cell phones, a cacophony of noise, of movement. The commotion is such that no one notices the slender, dark-haired girl swaying on trembling legs, a pale hand lifting to her brow; the jacket she is carrying drops to the ground and it appears as if she will soon quickly follow. The figure that appears from the shadows, sweeping her up in strong arms, is glimpsed by one man attempting to perform CPR…but he is so distraught, blood staining his hands, that he will forget to inform the officer who later arrives on the scene.

It ultimately wouldn't have mattered, for the figure with his precious cargo is long gone, a swift blur passing through the empty streets.

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><p><em>The inspiration for the fight scene: youtu (dot) be  WkrldSP4EU8?t=42s_

_Clallam County Courthouse: flickr (dot) com / photos / ronsipherd / 4905030084/_


	11. Think Nor Want

Your reviews are amazing. Thank you. This is a short one hence the midweek update. Next chapter will go up Saturday.

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><p><em>I don't know what I think, nor what I want.<em>

_A Room with a View_

**ten**

The feeling of being cradled and safe is at complete odds with the confusion and horror she has experienced for much of the day. A small, contented sound escapes Bella's lips as consciousness slowly returns, comforted by the thought that the entire day must have been a terrible nightmare. She presses her cheek to her cool sheets…but begins to realize that something isn't quite right. She struggles to open her eyes, a line forming between her brows as the incongruities sink in; the fabric beneath her cheek is jersey, not the woven cotton of her sheets; the air is too cool, the faint sound of distant traffic completely unlike the peaceful quiet of her father's house; and she is reclining against a firm surface rather than lying down. When her eyes finally flutter open, she can only gasp and stiffen, shocked to find herself draped across Edward Cullen's lap.

She flails gracelessly, trying to sit up, stand, and roll away all at once. His grim voice meets her ears, insistent, "You fainted. You shouldn't try to stand." Bella ignores him, lifting her hands to shove away from his chest. It is like shoving against concrete, his body unmoving. A bitter smile flits across Edward's lips before he shifts, grasping her waist with strong hands. She squeaks as he easily lifts her from his lap and deposits her at his side…on the stairs of the Clallam County Courthouse.

Her gaze darts around, taking in the empty evening street before the courthouse, the desolate parking lot to the east of the building, and the silent young man sitting at her side. Confusion is apparent in her expression before the events of the day rush back, the color draining from her cheeks as she remembers…

"Put your head between your knees if you think you're going to faint again," Edward orders.

Bella's gaze swings to his face, eyes wide as she tries to reconcile what she'd read in the file with the solemn figure seated inches away, his eyes trained on the Converse on his feet.

To her dismay, the tension and misgivings curling through her gut are directed at herself rather than him…for Bella realizes he looks no different to her, that he is the same lanky youth who perches on a stool once a week in her tiny office, at times baiting, at times amused, and always frighteningly insightful. She had expected to feel disgust, fear…or even a certain clinical distance given the sociopathic implications of needlessly killing an animal…

But all she can think is that there must be more to the story, some explanation…for how can she still feel so helplessly drawn? How can that mixture of fear and clinical concern be entirely absent? Her gaze falls, her hands tightening into fists with the realization that she is still making excuses, that he could very well be exhibiting the kind of behavior criminal psychologists call out as an early warning sign in serial killers.

Edward turns his head, his golden eyes lifting to her face with an expression she cannot read. She knows her own is an open book, the day too traumatic to leave her capable of hiding her thoughts and feelings as she usually does; instead, her brow is furrowed with confusion and worry, her gaze almost tormented. Seeing her distress, something minute and nearly undetectable shifts in his gaze, as if he is looking just beyond her shoulder, as if she has disappeared.

Bella realizes he is exhibiting the detachment that she wishes she could feel. Her eyes drift shut as this realization is quickly followed by the certainty that he is aware she has obtained the case file—that they are not sitting on the courthouse steps by accident.

She wants to ask how far he had carried her, recalling with a frown that she hadn't had a chance to make out the street sign before the fight at the bar had broken out. She wants to ask how he had come across her so far from Forks, on this night of all nights. She wants to know how he had escaped the melee without being questioned or stopped. But she somehow knows that if she starts asking questions, she cannot avoid the one question that is most important, the one question it is her job to ask: why had he killed the deer? Even as she voices the query in her head, an internal knee jerk reaction denies such a thing can be true. Her eyes sink shut with the knowledge of her own failing.

"Where—where is my jacket?" Bella asks this question because she cannot bring herself to ask any other.

Edward's gaze returns to his shoes, his hands hanging between his knees. His voice is quiet when he speaks. "It had blood on it. I threw it away."

"Oh." The word is faint, Bella's face somehow paling further as she recalls the fight, the shouting…and the smiling man crossing the street as if to speak to her. Then, weakly, she tries to explain, "I've never been able to stand the sight of blood." She shivers as the memories continue to click into place, the noise, the fight, the confusion. Curious, she asks, "Do you think he's okay?"

Edward doesn't speak for several seconds and she slowly realizes that he's not going to, that she has just witnessed someone dying. A chill courses over her body, like a gust of wind has physically wrapped around her, cold and terrible. She cannot conceal the profound sadness she feels at this reality—at the brutality of it, the abrupt, clandestine nature of it…of death. There are no tears in her voice when she speaks but the defeated softness of her words communicates how deeply this news has struck her, "You could have lied, you know."

Edward's head swivels, his eyes wide and surprised as they meet her own. His voice is rough when he replies, "I've never lied to you."

Bella inhales slowly, returning his stare even though she wants to look away…somehow, though, his gaze seems to hold her in place, like an insect trapped beneath glass. She knows he is speaking to more than this moment, that he is trying to tell her something…but she still feels like she's fumbling through a maze in the dark. Her response is nearly a whisper, "You feel honesty should warrant some clemency."

Edward's eyes narrow, his voice sharp. "I have been honest with you not out of some manipulative plan to earn your sympathy or forgiveness, but because—" His mouth abruptly snaps shut, the muscle in his jaw pulsing as if he is clenching his teeth. He is clearly waging an internal battle, hands curling into fists, brows drawn low, before he speaks again, "Because I knew there would be no chance if I ever lied to you."

Bella slowly nods her head, afraid to ask him what he means—afraid he will say that the chance he speaks of is not about him, is not about getting well, getting counseling…but about her and how she perceives him.

He is the first to break the lengthening silence. "You're shivering," his remark is neutral, his expression so blankly emotionless that Bella has to look away.

"I'm fine."

But he is already shrugging out of the gray hooded sweatshirt he'd been wearing, revealing a short sleeved tee shirt in dark blue. He holds the jacket behind her, patiently waiting for her to lift her arms and thread them through the sleeves. Hesitating only a moment, Bella does as he wishes.

It is much too large for her and she has to push back the sleeves to free her hands, the excess fabric bunching around her elbows. She then tugs at her hair, pulling the chestnut locks free. "Thank you," she murmurs, glancing in his direction.

Her gaze quickly falls away again and she is mortified to feel a slow flush burning up her throat. For she could not fail to notice the finely muscled arms she'd never seen prior to that moment, his skin pale, forearms speckled with the faintest ghosting of reddish hair. She is instantly ashamed, the blush intensifying as she berates herself for her thoughts, wondering if she's lost her mind. Perhaps she's the one in need of counseling…

"When did you last eat?" His voice abruptly breaks into her thoughts. It is still disturbingly flat, as if he is assuring she won't pass out again because it is the proper thing to do, rather than out of any concern for her well-being.

Bella frowns down at her hands, knowing this should be what she wants, what she had been trying to discourage since his first visit. "Um…this morning." She'd had a bowl of oatmeal while standing in the kitchen, gazing blankly out the window at the woods beyond the dewy yard.

"Hold on." Edward has hopped up before she can ask him what he intends to do. Her gaze follows his brisk figure as he trots down the courthouse steps and approaches a silver car parked next to her rusted red truck. She realizes it is his car as he opens the passenger side door and reaches into the glove compartment. He soon returns to her side, a granola bar in his hand, his gaze distant as he holds it out to her.

"Honestly I'm not hungry," she tries to protest.

"Humor me."

Grimacing, she reaches for the brightly wrapped bar, carefully tearing it open as he sinks back to the step at her side. It is only when she has finished chewing her third bite that he asks, "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine," she lies, keeping her gaze carefully trained on the snack in her hand. For all of the antagonism of their past exchanges, she has never felt so awkward around him. There are too many things unsaid, his manner stiff and distant, her own tense and nervous. This somehow fills her with a sadness she cannot explain.

"You don't feel dizzy, sick, cold…?" Bella can feel his eyes on her but can't make herself return his stare.

She frowns at her hands, not able to understand his train of thought. "Should I?"

"I'm actually waiting for you to go into shock."

"I don't think that will happen," Bella shakes her head, lips twisting. "I've always been very good at repressing unpleasant things."

Edward is silent at this. Bella realizes that she does largely feel fine…or at least, witnessing the violent fight couldn't begin to shock her system in the manner that learning of Edward's offense had. As she chews the last bites of the granola bar, she again wonders how he knew where she was. Could he have been one of the bystanders at the bar? She glances at him covertly, unable to believe a bartender would fail to kick him out. For all of his maturity and poise, there is no mistaking his youth: his smooth jaw, the wild messiness of his overlong hair, and the unlined perfection of his features sets him apart. Her eyes sink shut at the thought, shame spiraling in her chest yet again.

"I should get going," she announces, abruptly shooting to her feet.

"You're certain you're fine to drive?" Edward asks, gracefully rising to his feet as well.

"Yes," Bella nods briskly. "I promise."

"Allow me to walk you to your car." Bella has no room to protest, especially given he is parked directly next to her. As they reach the last wide step of the courthouse entrance, her ankle unexpectedly turns and she stumbles, arms flailing. His hand is on her elbow in an instant, jerking her back upright before quickly letting go. "I can give you a ride home," Edward offers, frustrated.

Bella's gaze flies up before darting away from his glowering features. "No!" The fear and alarm in her voice is evident, her hands trembling as she shoves them in the pockets of his hoodie. She is appalled by how his brief touch had affected her, like a burn through the fabric of the jacket. Embarrassed at her reaction, she is desperate to get away from him if only to escape the way he makes her feel.

He says nothing, his expression somehow growing more shuttered.

As they reach the driver's side door of the ancient truck, she moves as if to shrug off his sweatshirt.

"Let me give this back—"

"I couldn't possibly." Edward holds up a hand, the statement filled with such finality that she doesn't feel she has room to argue.

Bella looks up at him again, brown eyes wavering, struggling to maintain her stare. His expression is bland and inscrutable, waiting for her to speak. "Tell me," she finally manages to say, then immediately falters. Does she really want to know the truth? Would he even be willing to explain…or would he simply fail to answer—as he had in the past when he didn't want to lie to her? "Tell me," she whispers, "your favorite flower."

The faintest hint of sadness flickers across Edward's gaze before he quietly answers. "The amaranth."


	12. Against Suspicion

Happy holidays to those of you celebrating. Apologies for failing to get to the last set of reviews. I may miss responding again as I'll be in Walla Walla for Christmas as of tomorrow. Know that I read every one. Thank you.

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><p><em>Haven't we all to struggle against life's daily greyness, against pettiness, against mechanical cheerfulness, against suspicion?<em>

_Howard's End_

**eleven**

The house is silent but for the intermittent buzz of the refrigerator in the kitchen, the near silent tick of the clock on the corridor wall, and the occasional exasperated huff of air from the lips of the girl lying flat on her back on the worn sofa. The plaid pillows that are usually propped on the cushions are on the floor, as if haphazardly tossed there. A pale arm is cast over her eyes, blocking the gray light filtering through the front window, chocolate hair pooled beneath her head. She wears faded jeans that are too big for her, the band folded over at the waist, and a tee shirt that is fraying at the neckline; the YMCA logo across the chest has crackled with years of washing.

There is a sudden flurry of motion, heels kicking against the cushion beneath her bare feet, a sound somewhere between a groan and growl escaping her mouth. The tantrum stops as suddenly as it started, her form abruptly still again, the arm draped over her eyes unmoving.

Bella had thought that escaping the bedroom might relieve the maddening circle and loop of her thoughts. After all, she hadn't been sleeping, eyes wide and staring into the gloom, watching the ceiling shift from ash to white as the hours bled from night to dawn. Throwing back the tangle of blankets, she had stalked to the bathroom, angry at the world, furious with herself, the pale, sleep deprived face in the mirror only increasing her ire.

The heat of the shower couldn't distract her, flinging herself back to her bedroom to retrieve whatever clothes happened to be at her fingertips. She didn't even attempt to do the chores that usually fill her Sundays. After restlessly pacing the living room, the sky gradually lightening from dawn to midday, the hours of sleeplessness eventually caught up to her, weariness slowing her stride. Thinking she might finally sleep, she had sunk to the couch…But slumber continued to evade her.

She doubts her sanity. She doubts her professionalism. She wonders if she's spent the last six years of her life pursuing a degree she's not fit to earn. How can she feel this way? Why can't she control these thoughts? Her teeth grit, gaze despairing and blazing in turn. But nothing can fix it. Nothing can make it right.

Bella doesn't know how long she's been in this position, not rising to eat or drink, when she is startled from the pointless merry-go-round of her thoughts by a sharp knock on the door. Shocked, she rears away from the sofa, her arm finally falling aside to reveal eyes weighted by dark circles.

She stumbles from the sofa, thrusting one hand through the tangle of her hair while the other tugs at the hem of her shirt. Had she been able to sleep the night before, she might have thought to make an excuse through the door, given herself time to change, time to collect her thoughts. However, between sleep deprivation and the turmoil of her thoughts, all her mind is capable of doing is wondering who would drop by unannounced.

Throwing back the lock, she opens the door wide.

"You might have at least asked who was there," Alice flatly chides. The small girl is perched before the door, her petite figure garbed entirely in black but for her battered brown boots, hands shoved into the pockets of her jeans.

Bella is in no mood for admonitions. "Because I have to worry about danger here in Forks," she responds sarcastically, stepping aside to allow Alice to enter. In doing so, she doesn't see Alice's brows rise ever so slightly, a dart of amusement crossing her amber gaze as she follows Bella inside.

Bella rounds the sofa and flops back down on its cushions, sitting on her hands to conceal their trembling. "What can I do for you, Alice?" The question has a false ring to it for Bella can guess why Edward's sister would go to the effort of coming to her home. Alice follows her into the living area, her tiny frame giving away her own nervousness; her hands dart to her spiky hair, then to her mouth, tugging at the bottom lip as her gaze flies restlessly around the room, bouncing on her heels.

"Do you want to go for a walk?"

Bella shrugs, unable to think of a reason to refuse. "Sure. Let me get my shoes." Rising from the sofa she runs a hand over her face, unable to hide her weariness as she turns to the stairs. Alice's gaze follows Bella as she disappears up the steps, head lifting to track the sound of bare feet shuffling across the floor boards above, then the creak of weight settling on the bed before there are shifting, shucking noises indicating Bella is drawing on socks and shoes. Alice's eyes drop to the floor once she hears Bella at the top of the stairs, pretending sudden fascination with her feet. But Bella does not glance her way, simply reaching for the spare rain coat that hangs near the front door, before tilting her head to the rear of the house. "There's a trail just past the back yard."

Alice wordlessly nods, silently following as Bella leads, her combat boots tromping on the two stairs that descend from the back door to the wet grass of the lawn. A light rain is falling but Bella can't summon the energy to pull her hood over her hair, uncaring of the snarled tangles that will ensue. Besides, they will soon be in the woods and the cover of tree branches will protect them from the majority of the drizzle.

The path is too narrow for them to walk side by side, ferns, nettles, and horse tail crowding close, ever threatening to overtake the tendril of trail. Bella is a beacon in her bright rain jacket, Alice's black-garbed figure a shadow gliding behind. The drip of the rain is the only sound, the noise gathering strength as the shower intensifies, pelting the canopy above. The usual call of crows and jays is absent, the forest quiet but for the steady tap of rain drops and the pad of their feet on the sodden path.

Though Bella knows Alice is not here by chance, following her on this aimless walk through the woods as a pleasant diversion, she is unwilling to be the first to speak. As it is, it takes all of her energy to simply raise and lower her feet, tramping on the path she frequently follows when the quiet of the house is too much to bear, or when her thoughts about Charlie are too overwhelming to stay inside. It is too much to ask that she be the one to broach the topic she knows is on both of their minds, losing herself to the patter of the ceaseless rain, to the half gloom of the surrounding forest. She has nearly forgotten Alice's presence when the teenager's voice breaks the silence, a bell ringing out in the towering cathedral of pine and fir.

"Do you ever have this…idea of what your future will be?"

Bella nearly stumbles, thinking back to her fleeting longing for Phoenix, to her recent doubts about the time she has spent pursuing her degree. She is unable to look back over her shoulder to the insightful girl, afraid of what she'll find in Alice's expression. She tries to think how to respond but ultimately remains silent, lips tight over her teeth.

Alice continues, her tone speculative, almost wistful. "Isn't it funny—how little control anyone has over what will happen? Yet we plan as if these things are certainties—getting a degree, or pursuing a career path…having expectations about what life will look like at some unspecified time off in the distance."

Bella's neck twists, her curiosity overcoming her fear, wondering what Alice means, what Alice _knows_.

"Should it be so surprising if something comes along to set those plans off course—plans based on something that was never guaranteed in the first place—to change the entire picture of what you thought the future would be?"

Bella has stopped walking, turning to fully face the girl. Alice draws to a halt as well, lifting her gaze to Bella's stricken face. The rain has dampened the black spikes of her hair and the strands have flattened around her skull, the usually subversive style taking on the vague shape of a classic bob. But it is the wide gaze of Alice's amber eyes that holds Bella's attention, unable to focus on this slight shift in her appearance. The girl's stare is so knowing, so intense, that Bella momentarily finds herself unable to breathe.

Bella can't help the fear and confusion in her voice when she finally manages to ask, "What do you mean, Alice?"

Black lashes sweep down, momentarily concealing the intensity of Alice's gaze. She shakes her head, sadly murmuring, "Everything is so dark…so uncertain now."

Bella's confusion intensifies. Hasn't Alice just been saying that uncertainty should be the expectation, that planning for the future is the truly foolish endeavor? "I don't understand," she whispers.

Alice opens her eyes, amber gaze pointed. "Do you trust me?"

Bella's lips part but no sound comes out. She inhales and finally protests, "I hardly know you!"

A genuine look of hurt crosses Alice's expression and Bella instantly jerks a hand to her eyes, immediately wishing she could take the words back. When she drops her palm, a feeling of disorientation seizes her, unable to reconcile the woman before her with the teenager she has encountered twice before. The rain has deflated all of the spiky defiance of Alice's hair, the severe cut of her black bob more evident now. The style highlights the narrow shape of her pale face, the ends coming to a point beneath sharp cheekbones. The sweep of her bangs is blunt and even, emphasizing the fine arch of her dark brows. She looks like nothing so much as a mature young woman…who could easily dress up as a flapper for Halloween.

"I'm sorry, Alice," Bella shakes her head, trying to push through the foggy feeling that the person she is looking at is not quite who she thought. Biting her lip, she softly argues, "You _are_ his sister." Her gaze falls. "You have to admit you're biased."

Alice's brows draw together, her protest sharp, "If anything, I should be biased against him. I've known him at his worst and I still think he's an amazing person."

Bella is again struck by the girl's uncanny maturity and blinks, trying to dispel the sense of seeing a mirage floating before her eyes—as if she is looking at a double exposed photo, this serious, adult Alice imposed on top of the teenage version. Reality comes back into focus as she absorbs Alice's words. "What do you mean at his worst?" She thinks of the deer, unmoving at Edward's feet, the quiet of the forest all around.

"I can't explain, Bella." Alice admits, frustrated, the words abruptly bitten off. She grimaces, as if struggling to think what she can say. She finally goes on, tilting her dark head. "But if I told you there was a reason—a good reason, would you trust me?"

Bella's chin lifts, her gaze rising to the forest canopy, as if she could find the answer to Alice's question there. Her hands are fists, knuckles white as she wrestles with what Alice is saying, what she is asking. Is it possible Edward's sister is right? Is it possible that there's an explanation for all of this? Her body trembles with weariness and the turmoil of her thoughts, shaking with the knowledge that she has been wrestling her denial all day…all night…no, from the moment she'd read the charge in the case file.

From the first, her heart has defied her logic, refusing to believe that Edward is capable of such a thing—or that there must be a reasonable explanation. What's worse, she knows this doubt is borne not from something innocent and good, but from the realization that she is drawn to him—inappropriate, awful impulse. Bella's lips thin before a gasp escapes her mouth at the realization that she wants to believe Alice—not because of any inherent trustworthiness in the strange, dark girl, but because she would grasp at anything that allows her to hope. "You don't know what you're asking of me!" Tears are evident in her voice and Bella blinks rapidly, desperate to keep them from falling.

Alice's voice is soft, almost consoling. "I do know…but I wouldn't ask if I didn't think you were the one person who would give him the benefit of the doubt."

Bella can no longer hold back the tears and drops her chin, dark hair swinging forward, attempting to hide her anguish. Her gaze is fixed on the muddy path, which grows blurry and invisible as the seconds pass, unable to respond, unable to meet Alice's gaze. Because of this, she fails to see Alice's pale face abruptly slacken, wide eyes distant as if seeing something far beyond the surrounding woods. The spell seems to pass as quickly as it arrived, Alice shaking her head as her vision focuses, centering on Bella's bowed head.

She steps close on light feet, wrapping strong arms around Bella's tired frame. "It will all turn out, Bella." The embrace is brief and Bella is barely able to absorb the sensation of cool firmness and the faint scent of lavender, before Alice has released her. "Just trust me," she adds. Bella can only nod, dashing with angry hands at the tears tracking down her cheeks.

By the time she raises her head Alice is gone, the forest empty and quiet. She is again alone with her thoughts.

Bella might have thought the entire encounter a dream but for the heavy tread of combat boots embedded in the muddy path, mixed with the geometric pattern of her own sneaker soles.

Though she is cold, shivering in her rain coat, Bella is reluctant to return to the house. She lingers on the path, meandering down the trail a little farther to where she knows a fallen tree provides a convenient bench. Pulling her hands deep into the sleeves of the coat, she sinks to the damp log, uncaring of the moisture seeping from the crumbling wood into the denim of her worn jeans. Lifting her head, she sees there is a break in the canopy here, milky light bleeding through, forcing her pupils to shrink. She is temporarily blinded but almost prefers her vision this way, everything blotted out, forgotten.

When she finally rises to return to the house, her stride is slow and weighted, drifting up the water logged trail in sneakers that squish with every step. She is almost too tired to think, for which she is grateful, kicking off the shoes as she moves into the relative warmth of the kitchen. She pauses there, caught between the impulse to cook, forcing herself to eat something given she's not touched any food all day…and the strange, pointless pull she is feeling towards the telephone that hangs directly inside the doorway.

Sadness washes over her features, brown eyes wide and empty as she gazes at the phone. She knows there is no one she can call, no one she can turn to and pour out her heart. And what could she say? I'm attracted to a seventeen year old sociopath? Her mouth twists with a self-loathing grimace. What could anyone possibly say to that?

Bella imagines Renee, bright and flighty, her attention no greater than that of a fly. "Oh, Bella, you'll get over it!" It is easy to picture her mother reclining in the papasan she'd dragged from apartment to apartment, likely wrapped in the kimono style robe she usually favored, a joint in one hand, a romance novel in the other.

"Why do you always worry so much about things that haven't even happened yet?" Bella recalls this refrain from a dozen conversations—about Bella's fear of moving again, or the second notice from the collections agency, or how they will pay to feed the puppy Renee is contemplating getting when they can't afford rent.

"You're finally taking after your old lady!" Bella knows this imagined response from her mother is not out of the realm of reality given Renee's inclination to date men much younger than herself…and her continued mystification with Bella's inability to date at all.

Sighing, Bella shrugs out of her rain jacket, draping it over one of the dining room chairs before moving to the fridge. She does not glance at the phone, much less consider picking it up again that evening.

When she finally climbs the narrow staircase to the upper floor, her mind drifts to Alice's words, considering her own expectations of the future. It is not something she has given thought to in some time. For all of the sacrifice she had made in relocating to Forks after Charlie's death, trying to honor his memory in some way…trying to connect with him as she had not been able to do in life…the overall arc of her life has not altered significantly. She is still pursuing her accreditation and licensing, pushing forward on the track she had decided on at eighteen. Nothing has truly changed…and what's more, she slowly realizes that can remain the case.

It is not as if she intends to act on her feelings. It is not as if there is anything she can _do_ about them. No one knows—not even Edward. And what's more, for all of her sadness about being unable to share the dismal situation with anyone, it is likely for the best that she keep her torment to herself. She can't forgive herself for the confounded attraction so she certainly can't expect sympathy or understanding from anyone else—and what if it were to somehow get back to Margery? Yes, she can keep quiet and hope that this will all soon pass…leaving her to the life she's chosen.

She pictures herself gray-haired, features lined, climbing these same stairs night after night, falling asleep on the same lumpy mattress, and waking up to the same gray light beyond the windows, ready for a day just like the one before.

Her trajectory will stay the same, unaltered, for her turmoil is hers alone.

The following morning, Bella rises early despite having slept only slightly better than the night before. Somehow, though, her demeanor does not bear the same despair, her resolve stubbornly reasserting itself as she grimly goes through the motions of getting ready for work. Her mouth is a thin, firm line as she shoves a granola bar and apple into her backpack, trotting out into the early morning mist to warm up her truck and hit the road.

No one has yet arrived at the clinic when she darts through the fire door at the rear of the building. She flicks on the lights and strides down the hall, her determined manner still evident…until she reaches the door of the converted closet she has been using as an office. She hesitates, one hand on the knob, before her gaze turns towards the front lobby just around the corner. Her eyes are wide, teeth catching at her bottom lip as if torn by a sudden impulse.

Bella glances around before turning away from the door and surreptitiously ducking into the reception area. She glances up at the plate glass windows and front door frequently as she takes a seat at Maria's desk, swiftly logging in to the computer there and bringing up an internet browser. Her pale fingers fly over the keys as she searches for the site she'd initially encountered at the Forks Public Library, eyes narrowing as she scans the screen. A small gasp escapes her lips when she finds it.

Bella's brows draw together as she sees the definition. While it's no less concerning than the meaning of morning glories, it is much more confusing. She cross checks the results by doubling back to several other sites but the meaning appears to be consistent.

The slam of a car door jerks Bella from her thoughts, her hands flying to erase the browser's history, close out the site, and shut down the computer. She is at her desk when she hears the fire door open and the heavy tread of Margery's step in the hall, but she is unable to focus on the files piled before her for some time. Chewing on her lip, she continues to mull over what she'd found, trying to make sense of Edward's answer.

He'd yet to share much with her that didn't carry some significance…and this is likely no different. Her pen doodles across the lines of her notebook, the scribblings about missing patient information, potential referrals, and skipped follow up appointments suddenly transitioning to three words.

_Amaranth: immortal love._


	13. Contrary

Thank you for all of your reviews. I hope everyone had a lovely holiday. For those who've asked, updates are generally posted Saturdays but will sometimes go up midweek if the chapter is short. Thank you again.

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><p><em>Cecil wondered at himself. Why, on this day of all others, was he so hopelessly contrary?<em>

_A Room with a View_

**twelve**

Her shoulders are hunched as she crosses the parking lot, the weight of the low gray clouds seeming to press down upon her from above. She does not raise her gaze, chin low, eyes trained on her feet. When she reaches the fire door at the rear of the center, she ducks through as if trying to avoid notice, a flush stealing up her cheeks as she hurries down the corridor past her coworker's offices. Seconds later she has reached her own minuscule space, darting inside, shutting the door, and leaning against it with a deep sigh. It is the first time she has ever been late, chagrin and embarrassment gripping her muscles as she denies the reason why.

Bella had been standing in front of her closet for a solid thirty minutes, unable to decide on what to wear, when she finally realized why she was suddenly dissatisfied with clothing she'd barely noticed before. She'd shrieked with dismay, bending down to grab one of the many shirts she'd tried on and discarded in the past half hour, batting at her tangled hair with furious hands as she yanked on plain khaki pants, then shoved her feet into flats.

She'd clattered down the narrow staircase, wrenching on her rain jacket and thundering out the door to her truck. It wasn't until she was halfway to the center that she realized she'd forgotten her backpack, a worn, fraying thing she'd carried since her freshman year of college. It usually held her lunch for the day, a book to read in the instance that she decided to take a break from reviewing case files, and any records she may have taken home the previous night.

Swearing, Bella had slammed the flat of her hand against the steering wheel before yanking on the turn signal and pulling a reckless u-turn. A horn blared behind her and she was momentarily tempted to raise her middle finger to the window of her truck. It was only then that she realized she was acting utterly unlike herself. Why should she be so frantic, so frustrated, so on edge?

Calm had immediately seized her, brown eyes wide and ashamed, barely seeing the road as she'd driven much more slowly back to her father's house. By the time she'd arrived at work, she was nearly forty-five minutes late. She didn't know whether to be relieved or alarmed that no one seemed to have missed her.

Bella settles at her desk, knowing she has barely any time before her only appointment of the day. She smooths at her hair, knowing it must be wild with all of her rushing around that morning, then gives up, feeling silly. She had resolved to help him. She had accepted that she couldn't make her feelings go away, but decided that no one needed to know about them. She had yet to figure out how to address the charges that had brought Edward to this place, but hoped the solution would come to her over the course of his visit. Taking a deep breath, Bella grips her pen and stares at the door, trying to convince herself that she is ready.

Several minutes pass in which Bella maintains this pose, certain that the moment she bends down to fetch her cell phone from her backpack to check the time, he will arrive in his usual startling manner. Her heart races every time the stomp of passing feet sounds beyond the door, but at no point do those feet indicate someone arriving for her—and she remembers that she has yet to hear Edward's approach beyond the occasional cursory knock.

Several more minutes pass in which she begins to get jittery, the pen wiggling between nervous fingers, fussing at the wild tendrils of her hair, attempting to tuck the strands behind her ears. Finally, a blush that is a mixture of embarrassment and anger curls up her throat to her jaw, blinking rapidly as she struggles to maintain her stare. Abruptly, she dives to the backpack beneath her desk, swiftly retrieving the cell phone and pressing the key to bring up the screen.

He is fifteen minutes late. But he has never been late, either arriving early or exactly at nine. Bella realizes the phone is shaking in her grasp and lays it on the desk, clenching her hands into fists in her lap. Perhaps there was an emergency at home? Or some mischief of Alice's has delayed him? Her gaze is now transfixed on the phone rather than the door, watching the minutes tick past.

After five more minutes she picks up a case file and pretends to read its contents—but her attention is constantly drifting to the phone, switching it on whenever the display times out, unable to let the minutes pass unheeded. It is only when the number flashes to ten that she rears away from her desk with a deep inhalation of air. Her eyes lift to the ceiling, hands still clenched in her lap. She is unable to believe that after everything…but perhaps there is a reason, an excuse…

Bella frowns, silently berating herself at the thought. She has been grasping for reasons and excuses the entire time that she has known Edward. She should accept that there is no reason—he chose not to come, just as he failed to show for any of his truancy related appointments. She is a fool to think otherwise.

Yet Bella cannot resist rising from her desk, shoving away from it with apparent anger as she stalks to the corridor and out to the reception area.

Maria appears startled by her appearance, dark eyes wide as she takes in the flushed features of the usually calm, reserved graduate student. Her mouth opens to speak, but Bella cuts her off, "Did the Cullens call to cancel Edward's appointment?"

Maria turns to her computer, a brief frown flitting across her brow as she clicks through several screens. "N-no," she stutters, gaze darting between the monitor and Bella's increasingly furious face. "There was no cancellation—he didn't show."

Bella can't trust herself to reply, spinning on her heel as she strides back to her office.

But she is unable to focus. Her gaze betrays her every time she hears the sound of patients and social workers passing the door, rising with nervous hopefulness…before sinking back to the page of whatever file she is attempting to audit, blushing and shame-faced as they continue on, voices fading.

When a knock does finally sound on the door, she is long past hope, resigned and weary as she pencils comments in her notebook. "Yes?" she asks, wondering who it could be as neither Edward nor Margery have ever waited for her acknowledgment.

A thin face peers around the door, topped by the frizz of a chemical perm. If Bella is startled by Janet's appearance, there is no indication of it in her expression, patiently waiting for the social worker to speak. Faded blue eyes regard Bella with sympathy, one cigarette stained hand grasping the frame of the door as she leans inside. "Maria told me your client didn't show."

Bella somehow manages to look unaffected, the porcelain of her features calm and bland as she returns Janet's gaze. She had assumed from briefly passing the other social worker in the hall that Janet was in her forties, but there is something lined and weary about her features that gives her a much older appearance, as if she has absorbed all of the pain of her clients through the years.

"I wouldn't take it too hard, kid," Janet continues, the last word raspy. She coughs, clearing her throat. "I'm amazed he came as long as he did."

Bella's gaze drops, unable to conceal the confusion and worry she has been feeling for the past few hours, struggling to sit still in the absence of the visit she had been anticipating all day…all week. "I'm sure he'll come in next week." Bella's voice is confident but she doesn't lift her gaze from the desk, certain Janet will see it's all bravado.

Janet is silent and Bella slowly realizes the more experienced social worker is not speaking because she has nothing encouraging to say. Her gaze flies up, wanting to hold on to hope, certain she must have misunderstood the other woman's silence…but Janet's blue eyes are pitying, her thin lips twisted into a grimace.

"You did everything you could," she tries to console Bella. "Don't take it too hard."

Bella simply nods, blinking back sudden, desperate tears. She barely registers the click of the door closing, unaware of anything but for the burn of her nails digging into her palms.

Can this really be it? Can all of this really be over?

And with enough time, might she forget him? Might she forget the strange longing he'd engendered in her, the mix of unfamiliar feelings she couldn't hold back when in his presence?

Bella rises from her desk, filled with a sudden determination. She hurries into the lobby, unaware of the drawn nature of her features, the unnaturally pale cast of her skin. "I have a quick errand I need to run," she calls to Maria. "If anyone asks." Bella is certain no one will, but doesn't want to take her chances.

Seconds later, she is perched behind the wheel of her truck, twisting the key in the ignition before doubt can halt her actions.

The highway is a blur, Bella's hands instinctively turning the wheel back towards Forks, flicking on the wipers when a momentary drizzle speckles the wind shield. It is only when she has reached Calawah Way that conscious thought appears to return, a faint frown marking her brow as she tries to recall the turn Alice had taken.

Her eyes narrow as she makes a guess, turning up a drive that she quickly realizes is too overgrown to be the manicured property of the Cullens. She shifts into reverse, looking over her shoulder as she carefully backs down to the main road. Once on Calawah, she barely goes over twenty, too worried that she's mistakenly passed it to give any thought to what she's doing, to why she's there.

She is not certain what possesses her to suddenly turn the wheel, some combination of instinct and memory pulling her from the road, the truck bouncing from smooth concrete to rough gravel. She exhales with relief when the overgrown hedges and scraggly pine fall back to reveal familiar green lawns, so evenly trimmed they might pass for a golf course…and at the top of the drive, the towering house shingled in cedar.

It is only when she has shifted into park and pulled the key from the ignition that the sudden silence brings her back to earth. She freezes behind the wheel, eyes staring and wide, unable to imagine what she thought she could accomplish by coming here. What could she say? What purpose would it serve? A bright flush blooms in her cheeks and her gaze falls to her lap, suddenly very certain that she has lost her mind.

"Bella! We weren't expecting you today!" The call of a bright voice from beneath the shadows of the porch shocks her from her thoughts, gaze flying from her lap to the front door of the house. She wonders if there's time for her to start the car and squeal away—but Esme's light figure is gliding down the steps too quickly, a smile curving across her full lips.

Bella reluctantly stumbles from the cab, the keys tightly gripped in her hand as she struggles to think what to say. But Esme is speaking again, raising her gloved hands apologetically. "I've been gardening so I regret I can't greet you properly."

"Oh, no, that's fine," Bella murmurs, belatedly noticing the canvas apron Esme is wearing, pockets and loops along the front carrying tools she vaguely recognizes; a small shovel, a three-pronged till, clippers and something that looks like an oversized ice pick. Her hair is pinned away from her face and loosely caught at her nape, revealing the paper white curve of her throat; even in the low northwest light, the color of her hair is richly colorful, alternating between golden honey and darkly caramel. "I should have called—ahead." Bella's voice is uncertain, the words jerking awkwardly forth.

"Edward and Alice are still at school but should be home shortly. Why don't you come out back and I can show you my Hostas?" The statement is so benignly innocuous, so utterly domestic, that Bella can't think of a reason to refuse.

"Sure," she responds, obediently following.

A faint frown crosses her brow that there is no path here, no artfully placed stones to lead the way behind the house. But Esme shows no hesitation in treading upon the rich, even grass, small feet sinking into the thick pile with light steps as she follows the perimeter of the house to the rear. Bella trudges after, her mind relentlessly blank though she knows she should be thinking of an excuse, an escape route—a way to get out of this mess of her own making. When she lifts her gaze, all thoughts fly from her head at the vista before her.

Widely spaced rows of rose bushes tumble down to a creek she hadn't realized bordered the property, the undulating shape of each row mimicking the flow of the water. Pink and white buds are just beginning to bloom, peeking between darkly glossy leaves. Interspersed among these rows are carved urns topped by a mix of lavender and rosemary, the herbs untamed and wild in contrast to the formal stone that encases them. At the base of the urns are the Hostas Esme had mentioned, arranged in meticulous concentric rings, each ring representing a particular species as indicated by the patterns on their full, extravagant leaves.

"Esme," Bella manages to murmur. She cannot think what to say, her gaze darting from the carefully pruned roses to the cleanly raked pebbles marking the paths between the flowers and shrubs, unable to absorb it all. "This is so lovely," she finally manages to remark.

Esme's smile is sweet, teeth briefly flashing in Bella's direction before she tilts her head towards the creek. "The Hostas closest to the water are beginning to bloom."

Bella again dumbly follows, noting the bed of cultivated moss flowing over an artfully arranged rockery, a burst of pale columbine blooming a few steps later, and a wrought iron bench tucked between two dense rose bushes she would not have noticed until passing directly before it.

They are nearly to the rocky edge of the creek when Esme draws to a halt and stoops to a bed of lush Hostas all capped by tight twists of hidden buds, the very edges of white petals peeking through. She draws off a glove to reveal an ivory hand, touching the little furls with gentle fingers. "Did you know," she asks, "this is an unusual one?" Her gaze lifts to Bella, honey eyes filled with an emotion Bella can't identify. "These flowers only open at night."

Unthinking, Bella blurts, "Then who gets to enjoy them?"

Esme's smile is gentle, gazing back down at the buds. "Oh, we all do." Bella is silent, lip caught between her teeth, certain there is something she is missing. Esme continues, still gazing down at the Hostas as she draws her glove back on to her hand. "It isn't so difficult to adapt, especially when nature gives you no choice."

Bella's gaze rises to the creek, slick water clear and swift over rocks, the dense forest towering on the opposite side. She can easily imagine this place at dusk, the light low, the white flowers of the hosta slowly opening to the night air.

Esme's soft voice breaks into her thoughts. "Would you like some tea? I imagine it will only be a few minutes more."

Bella regains herself, sucking in a breath as her eyes dart about the impossibly wonderful garden. "I don't think—"

"Please don't refuse," Esme interjects, the request somehow gentle and yet unyielding at the same time, a firmness underlying the words. "Edward should understand that he can't miss his appointment with no consequences."

Bella's eyes instantly widen. "Oh, I have no intention of penalizing him!" she protests as she shakes her head.

Esme's smile is instantaneous, comforting and warm. "I only meant that his actions will have an effect, whatever that may be—your visit, his own…don't you call it backsliding?" Esme begins back up the path, inclining her head to indicate Bella should follow.

"You mean, that he'd suffer some kind of relapse?" Bella can't contain her curiosity, quickly tripping after Esme with eager steps.

"In the sense that…" Esme hesitates but her expression does not indicate that she is reluctant to share, only that she is uncertain of her wording. "That he would become as unhappy as before."

Bella frowns, disappointed yet relieved that Esme was referencing his emotional state rather than behavior when she mentioned backsliding. Biting her lip, Bella wonders if she can bring herself to ask Edward's foster mother about the charges—but Esme continues before she can think to form the question.

"Only…" Esme pauses as they reach a set of concrete steps leading down into the basement of the house. When they descend to the back door, she twists the knob and opens it, gesturing for Bella to pass. Then, continuing, "only, I should admit that he hasn't been all happiness and joy these past weeks."

It takes all of Bella's power not to snort but Esme seems to sense the restrained reaction, honey eyes darting up, a mischievous smile crossing her lips. "I know my son is hardly the picture of sunshine, but seeing you _has_ changed him." She draws off her gloves, placing them on a bench just inside the door, then unties the apron and hangs it on a hook set into the beadboard. "Certainly, at times he has even seemed more unhappy than before but I imagine that might be the norm—the feelings that talking through things must unearth."

Bella shakes her head, a grimace twisting her mouth. "I've only observed counseling prior to now," she admits. Silently she thinks that even those observations have all but ceased, the vast majority of her time at the center dedicated to auditing files rather than sitting in on client sessions.

"So Edward is your guinea pig?" Esme asks, her gaze wide and guileless.

"Or vice versa," Bella can't restrain her snort now, which is quickly followed by an embarrassed blush. To her relief, Esme laughs as she leads the way up a narrow staircase to the main floor.

"Let me just wash my hands and then I'll put the kettle on," Esme calls over her shoulder. The steps lead into the corridor Bella had traversed once before, the library at one end, the open kitchen at the other. Esme's step is brisk as she turns right and Bella hurries to follow.

"You said Edward was even more unhappy before," Bella prompts, no longer reluctant to get what information she can.

Esme gestures to one of the stools wedged beneath the edge of the granite topped island before turning to the sink and quickly rinsing her hands. Bella obediently takes a seat, observing Esme's turned back closely as she moves to the glossy stainless steel stove. When Esme finally speaks, there is no denying the sadness in her voice. "He was resigned. It was as if…there was no hope." There is the click of the pilot light then the whoosh of flames igniting, but Esme does not turn to face Bella.

Her sadness is almost tangible, seeming to fill the room, and Bella does not know what to think or feel. She is gripped by an even more powerful desire to see Edward, to understand him…yet she knows her motives are so flawed, so blurred, that guilt and shame mix within, setting her stomach rolling. "I wish I could help," she whispers.

Esme finally turns, amber eyes wide. "But you do! If you could see the change in him…" Her gaze is imploring. "I will not lie. It is not that he is no longer unhappy. But Edward has begun to suspect there is hope, that there are possibilities he had not thought were available to him." The love Esme clearly feels for her adopted son is evident in the conviction with which she speaks, her hands tight fists at her sides. Bella can only regard her with wide eyes, wondering how Edward could feel such hopelessness with such a fierce advocate behind him.

Esme shakes her head, going on. "If he's been unhappy these past weeks it's because he sees what could be, he has an idea of what he's missing—but even if this unhappiness is more intense, I would not wish him returned to that ceaseless melancholy of before, with no hope, no relief."

Bella is silent, absorbing Esme's words…before she begins to realize she hasn't truly learned anything new about her client—that Esme may as well have spoken in riddles. "Relief?" she echoes. From what? From who?

It appears Esme is forming a response when her gaze suddenly snaps to the front door. "They're here."

Bella's confusion is instantaneous, brow furrowing as her gaze darts to the wide windows. She hadn't heard the crunch of tires on gravel or the slamming of car doors. The kettle begins quietly burbling, steam pushing through its spout, before she can form a question. "Would you like chamomile or peppermint?" Esme asks, seemingly unaware of Bella's mystification.

"I—how—" Bella stops and takes a breath. "Peppermint."

The turn of the latch distracts her from this confusion at Esme's strange ability to detect the arrival of Edward and Alice, neck craning as she swivels on the stool. She is anxious yet full of anticipation, breath caught in her throat.

The memory of their first encounter instantly fills her mind, distinctly recalling the dark, forbidding expression that had clouded his features that day…for it is so unlike how vulnerable and even humorous he'd been at their last appointment, and so uncannily similar to his demeanor now. Even his actions are similar to that first day, gaze fixed on the floor, refusing to meet her own. "Alice is waiting for you on the porch." He speaks but it is to Esme, the words flat as he stops just inside the threshold, hands shoved in his pockets. Bella stares at him, almost willing him to meet her gaze, but his eyes are locked on the floor, anger evident in every inch of his frame.

"Here's your tea," Esme quietly murmurs as she places the mug on the granite island, one hand drifting against Bella's arm in a motion that is almost comforting before she continues on. Apparently unfazed by Edward's obviously black mood, she pauses just before passing through the door, reaching up on tiptoes to plant a quick kiss on his cheek. She appears to say something, lips moving, but is gone through the door before Bella realizes exactly what she's doing.

And perhaps it doesn't matter for Edward's expression is unchanged, silent as he glares at the floor. Resentment begins to warm Bella's blood, her own brows drawing low as she watches him, waiting for him to say something. She can feel her stomach churning, hands trembling as the tense silence stretches out. Her anger intensifies at the thought that she should remain so in the dark, that she should be so full of self-doubt, that he should make her feel this way…and yet he stands there, unspeaking.

"Why didn't you come today?" she finally exclaims, unable to conceal the accusatory note in her voice.

Edward's gaze flies up, surprised. Her anger falters at seeing that his eyes are black again, as if reflecting the darkness of his mood. "I waited for you," she weakly adds.

Edward's brows lower. "There's no point." His gaze is steady as he regards her across the span of the room.

Bella's frown becomes one of frustration, desperate for him to see reason. "I want to help you!" she protests.

A single brow lifts as Edward asks, "Is that why you're here?"

Frustration ignites a flame in her belly. Why must he always turn the tables back to her? Bella sucks in a breath and flings up her hands, "I don't know why I'm here!"

Edward's frown deepens, lines forming around his mouth as his lips tighten over his teeth. "Do you know anything?"

His statement sends her rocking back on the stool, caught off guard by the sharpness of his tone, by his equal if not greater frustration with her. He continues before she can reply, "You don't know why you're in Forks—and now you don't know why you're here at my house."

Bella's cheeks burn, her gaze diving to her lap as she realizes the truth of his statement. Her heart pounds in her chest, knowing that she has failed to examine her motivations for very good reasons, that she has been all instinct and no logic with him, ricocheting from moment to moment without taking time to think about her actions. Her voice is a whisper when she responds, barely able to get out the words in her chagrin, "I just knew I couldn't—" She can't go on, unable to admit the truth, not out loud, not in his presence.

"Couldn't what?" Edward's voice is dry and her gaze lifts, surprised to find his expression has turned sardonic.

Her eyes narrows and she can't help blustering, "Couldn't let you not come!" Blood pulses in her cheeks, her hands clenched in her lap. Trembling, she wishes she had a better answer but knows there is nothing she can say that will not reveal the truth in her heart.

Something shifts in his expression, the cynicism and darkness washing away to reveal something akin to wonder, black eyes full of curiosity. His voice is softer when he speaks, the question lacking the cutting incisiveness he usually shows. "Why is it so important to you?"

"Because you're important."

The words are out of her mouth before she can stop herself…and seconds later, she realizes she doesn't regret saying them.

If she had thought his expression had transitioned before, she is nearly breathless at the sight of the slow smile that reluctantly spreads across his lips. It is guilelessly happy, his dark eyes bright as his head lifts, regarding her with what she knows is hope.

"Alright, Bella," he allows, the smile turning almost playful. "I'll be there next week."

"You will?" She realizes it is now her turn to sound hopeful.

"Yes."

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><p><em>Hosta: a shade tolerant ground covering perennial perfect for the weak light of the northwest. A picture of the night blooming Hosta plantaginea can be found here: http :  www (dot) ces (dot) ncsu (dot) edu/depts/hort/consumer/factsheets/perennials/images/HostaPl1 (dot) htm_


	14. Consequences

Thank you for all of the amazing reviews-nearly the most of any chapter so far. I think I responded to all of them but I apologize if I missed you. The past chapter, this current chapter, and the coming one were all originally grouped together in the outline (don't ask me what I was thinking), but due to length and flow had to be broken up. The next is a bit shorter so will be posted Wednesday. Thank you again.

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><p>B<em>ut the Schlegels had never played with life. They had attempted friendship, and they would take the consequences.<em>

_Howard's End_

**thirteen**

"You're coming to the bonfire, right?"

It is as if she is surfacing from a dive, head slowly lifting, gaze gradually focusing, lips drifting apart to speak. "Oh, I'd forgotten…"

"You have to come!" Seth's eagerness and excitement is palpable, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he twists the strap of his backpack between nervous fingers. The hour of tutoring is finally up and both he and Lissa are standing, ready to go, glancing towards the door of the portable in anticipation. Bella lurches to her feet, forcing herself to remember where she is and what she's doing, berating herself for getting lost in thought yet again.

"I'd like it if you came," Lissa quietly adds, dark eyes shy as she gazes up at Bella.

"Maybe for a little while," Bella's lips twist as she finally concedes. Lissa's smile is glowing in response, tucking her hand in Bella's as they cross the worn wood floors to the door. Outside, Lissa bounces down the steps as Bella secures the lock and shrugs into her rain coat; the breeze is bracing and cool despite the theoretical approach of spring, glimpses of blue attempting to break through the cloud cover. She follows the two Quileute youths as they pass beneath the trees surrounding the tribal school, plunged into a shadowy gloom as the branches above have gone green and rich with the change in season. The scent of pine resin is strong beneath the boughs and Bella is reminded of spring break visits to her father at this same time of year.

Seth's long stride has brought him to the dark asphalt of the road first; he turns to look over his shoulder to bid them good-bye. Bella cuts him off, suddenly longing for something to distract her from her thoughts—conversation, company, the prattle of children to bring her to earth. "Do either of you need a ride to the beach?" she asks, glancing between Lissa and Seth.

"Sure!" Seth quickly agrees with a toothy smile. "Otherwise my mom will make me help haul food and chairs and stuff," he adds.

A soft laugh escapes Bella's lips. "Always so altruistic."

A frown crosses his tan features. "Altruistic?"

Bella blushes, worried that she sounds pompous. "Generous, dutiful," she quietly explains.

Seth's frown clears. "Oh." He turns to Lissa, "You coming, half-pint?"

The girl digs a sneakered toe into the dirt that buttresses the road, black eyes trained on the ground. "No, my dad should be here soon. He'd be worried if I wasn't waiting."

"Are you sure?" Bella asks, reluctant to leave Lissa by herself. The girl usually walks the short distance home from the Saturday tutoring sessions but First Beach is much too far to go by foot.

Wordlessly, Lissa nods her dark head, glossy hair swinging. Reluctantly, Bella climbs up into her truck, watching through the glass as Lissa stubbornly stares out to the road. Once the doors are shut and the engine is running, Seth remarks, "It's alright." Bella glances in his direction as she pulls onto River Drive. He continues, "Clyde doesn't ever start drinking before five…and someone will give her a ride home from the bonfire."

Bella's gaze flies to Seth, brown eyes wide before glancing in the rear view mirror at the rapidly shrinking figure of the young girl. "I had no idea—" she begins, then stops, biting her lip. It is yet another example of all she doesn't know, the dark corners and hidden aspects of tribal life that she is not privy to as an outsider.

"Don't worry about it," Seth blithely replies, making a dismissive motion with his hand. "He'll run a little late—being hungover and all—but he won't drive drunk with Lissa in the car." Bella's heart twists for the girl, guilt mixing with feelings of sympathy for having been so distracted during their recent tutoring sessions, for being so caught up in her own drama.

Before she has come to terms with this information, she is distracted when Seth exaggeratedly sniffs at the air. "You wearing perfume?" he asks suspiciously.

"No," Bella answers, gaze darting down to her lap, then over to Seth. She briefly wonders if he's simply trying to change the subject but he continues to sniff at the air, black brows drawing together. She bites her lip, thinking, trying to remember if she'd bought different detergent the last time she was at the grocery store—but honestly can't recall. "I never wear perfume," she adds.

"If you say so," Seth replies. Then, leaning towards her he sniffs again. "It's not bad, just…sweet."

Bella's brown eyes widen, a sudden, alarming thought occurring to her as he shifts back towards the passenger side door. Is it possible Seth is trying to give her a compliment? Is this his awkward, teenage way of showing interest? Warmth steals up her throat and hovers at her jawline as she stares determinedly at the road, horrified at the idea that she might have somehow encouraged his interest. He's just a kid, ungainly and awkward, not yet comfortable in his skin, still excited by childish things.

A whisper at the back of her mind reminds her that he is nearly the same age as Edward Cullen.

Bella inhales sharply, hands tightening around the wheel, blushing as justifications burst forth in her thoughts for the umpteenth time…that Edward is so unlike any teenager she has ever known, that his poise and maturity are greater than many college students she'd encountered in graduate school, and that perhaps his adverse upbringing has contributed to his precocity…

Only she knows she is being a hypocrite, that there is no justification for her feelings, that she is no better than a predator even if she hasn't acted on the strange draw she feels towards her client.

Seth has continued to babble on, clueless as to the turmoil making her breathing shallow, knuckles white against the steering wheel. "So then Jake said to Leah that if she didn't get a major attitude adjustment, he was going to the bar without her."

"Oh, really?" Bella responds faintly, knowing she must at least try to give a semblance of normalcy.

"Yeah, I'd never seen him lay down the law like that!" Seth laughs. "It was pretty bad ass."

Bella frowns, absorbing his words. "But they're okay, right?" She can't imagine the two as anything other than a couple, attached at the hip since high school.

"Oh, yeah," Seth nods. "I don't think they'll ever break up—they don't know how to be apart."

Her breathing eases at this change in subject, covertly glancing at Seth again and hoping that her suspicion was wrong. She signals as the road zigzags from Alder to Ocean Front Street, the trees falling away to reveal the Pacific, pale gray sky blending into the darker gray of the waves.

Seth continues to chatter about family squabbles, how boring he finds his history class, and the Volkswagen he and Jake have been working to restore. Bella tries to pay attention but her thoughts stray, gaze drifting from the road to the water; she finds something peaceful in the tumble of the waves, foaming and white where they crest at a distance from the shore, gentle and lapping against the beach.

Soon, though, there is more than Seth's babble to distract her, the drop down to First Beach coming into view. Bella cranks the wheel, turning towards the shore, unable to resist smiling as Seth nearly bounces on the bench seat at the sight of all the people speckling the beach. "It looks like Embry's here—and Quil and Jared, too!" Distant figures are setting up chairs around a pile of driftwood and tinder, others stationed around the black metal of a barbecue grill; children duck and weave among the adults, laughing, coats flapping open, darting birds upon the sand.

"Bella, so glad you came!" Sue's welcome is genuine, enfolding her in a hug before she turns to Seth with a chastising frown. "You know we could have used your help at the house, you lazy thing."

"Aw, Mom…" Seth whines. They drift away as she orders him to help with the last of the firewood gathering, voices lost to the steady roar of the tide and the screech of gulls overhead.

Bella approaches the barbecue where Harry Clearwater is standing sentinel over the grill, tongs in hand. "Hey, Bells!" he calls, waving a hand. Bella can't help a wistful smile at his use of the name Charlie had always called her, slowly approaching him across the mix of sand and pebbles, hands deep in the pockets of her rain coat.

"Hey, Harry, how are you?" His grizzled hair is covered by the baseball hat he always wears despite the lack of sunshine, an olive green canvas jacket adorning his burly frame.

"Can't complain," he responds, pulling her close for a one armed hug. He smells of tobacco and leather and Bella is surprised to find herself comforted by the fatherly embrace. The feeling quickly dies, however, when she steps back to see a sharp frown narrowing Harry's eyes, nostrils flaring suspiciously. The expression is swiftly gone, however, his forehead quickly smoothing as he turns to the barbecue. "Just waiting for the coals to get hot," he mumbles.

Bella's confusion is evident, lips slightly agape, brown eyes wide with surprise. Her gaze falls as Harry continues to stare with apparent fascination at the grill, wondering if she imagined the entire thing, already so in doubt about her judgment and perception. She digs her hands deeper into her pockets, gaze darting away to the dance of playing children near the tide line. "I'll just…" she weakly begins. "I'll just see if Sue needs help with anything," she finishes, quickly hurrying away.

The wind is stronger closer to the sea, pushing her hair over her shoulders, chestnut locks tossing and tumbling behind her as she strides towards the driftwood pile. A glimmer of sun spikes through the omnipresent cloud cover, glinting off the water and forcing Bella to squint as she reaches Sue's side. "Do you need any—"

But Sue doesn't hear her over the crash of the waves, pointing a finger at Embry and ordering him to shift a large log closer to the center. "You know it has to be a teepee shape to burn effectively," she admonishes.

"You know we ain't no teepee natives, Sue!" Embry teases as he shoves at the log with strong arms.

"Yeah, Sue," Paul joins the joking, black eyes glinting. "How you going to slag us long house folks?"

"Oh, hush, you boys," she sighs, placing her hands on her hips. Then, apparently glimpsing Bella in her peripheral vision, she starts and turns. "We're just finishing up—did Harry get you a hot dog?"

"Oh, um…" Bella doesn't want to admit that Sue's husband had inexplicably glared at her. "He said the coals were still getting hot."

"That man would wait until they were ashes before putting the meat on," Sue huffs. She turns around, peering across the beach to where Harry is still standing over the barbecue, shoulders hunched. Bella looks away, uncomfortable, uncertain what had prompted such a response from one of her father's best friends—and still not entirely sure she hadn't imagined it.

Her eyes lift to where Embry and Paul are standing a few feet away, gesturing towards the pile of firewood and speculating as to whether they shouldn't shift this log or that wad of paper just so. Their black heads are inclined towards one another, like twins with their great height, clean shaven faces, and plaid shirts. A tendril of hair drifts across Bella's vision, obscuring their figures. She lifts a hand to push the strand behind her ear but the wind is insistent, sheafs of hair tumbling back over her shoulders and across her cheeks, a wild tangle in the breeze. Through the swirl of strands, she sees Embry and Paul lift their heads in unison, black eyes locking on her own with expressions that are a mixture of shock and dismay.

Bella's eyes widen, pushing frantically at her hair in an effort to clear her sight, to assure herself that her vision isn't deceiving her, that she isn't losing her mind. By the time she has jammed the bulk of her hair beneath the collar of her coat, Paul and Embry have turned away, heads bent towards one another, quietly conferring. She can't make out their words over the shout of the children at play near the shore, the crash of the waves, the cry of circling birds. She isn't sure she wants to know what they're saying.

"Oh, look. Billy's here," Sue catches her attention, a tan hand drifting against Bella's arm. "We should help Jake get him down the path."

"Right. Yes." Bella is suddenly eager to get away from Paul and Embry, glancing in their direction only to find two sets of black eyes rapidly darting away. Quickly, she hurries after Sue, heels digging through pebbles to the sand beneath, pale face blank—but her mind is in an uproar, wild thoughts ricocheting within. Has she finally outstayed her welcome? Are they wishing Seth hadn't invited her about the bonfire? Had she said or done something that she didn't know was taboo? Bella combs her mind, trying to think of the last few times she's been on the reservation, whether there had been any awkward silences or sharp words…but she can think of nothing.

Because of her agitation, she is unintentionally faster than Sue, clambering up the path to where Jake is bent, wrestling with the brakes on Billy's wheelchair. "Here, let me help." He straightens with a relieved smile, gesturing for her to take the padded handles.

"Bella, I didn't know you'd be here," Billy gruffly greets her, looking over his shoulder.

"Lissa and Seth are real arm-twisters," she weakly jokes, trying to smile.

"If you take both the handles, I'll get the wheels," Jake instructs, sidling around her on the narrow path.

"Okay," Bella agrees, looking down to assure her grip is firm. In doing so she misses the bemused expression that crosses Jake's features as he rounds to the front of Billy's chair.

"You guys got it?" Sue asks, catching up.

"Oh, yeah," Jake calls over his shoulder as he crouches down at his father's feet. He glances up at Bella curiously, then appears to focus on the task at hand. "On three." She nods. "One, two, three!" They heft and awkwardly maneuver Billy down to the shore.

Bella lingers near the path as Jake pushes Billy the remainder of the way across the uneven stones to the bonfire. She shifts awkwardly from foot to foot, wondering if she shouldn't try to duck out without anyone noticing. "You came!"

Lissa is tumbling down the steep path, eyes bright, nearly tripping over her own feet in her excitement. She almost careens into Bella, then impulsively throws her arms around her tutor's waist.

A surge of protectiveness burns in Bella's chest. "Of course," she smiles down at the girl, brown eyes gentle.

Lissa grins up at Bella before someone near the water catches her gaze. "Oh, there's Kim!" She springs away and is soon hurtling down the beach, a coil of energy propelled towards the other children, hair like a black wing on the wind.

Bella's gaze sweeps across the beach, observing the crowd of people gathered in clusters around the barbecue and bonfire, the children tumbling at play, some of the elders sinking into the camp chairs positioned upon the rocks. Just as she is returning to the idea that she should steal away, she sees Jake making his way back towards her, hands deep in the pockets of his jeans, a friendly smile on his lips.

"What you been up to?" he casually calls when he is still several feet away.

A flare of suspicion curls in Bella's stomach. Though Jake has always been friendly, there is something pointed about his approach, his nonchalant stance too forced. "Not much," she replies as he reaches her side, wondering why she feels as if she's lying.

"Nice day for a bonfire, eh?" he asks, rocking forward onto the balls of his feet as he peers up at the mottled sky.

It takes all of Bella's willpower not to reveal the growing misgivings she is feeling, features merely bland as she shrugs a shoulder. Then, trying to change the subject she asks, "Where's Leah?" Her brown eyes are mildly curious as she looks up at Jake's stubbled face.

He pulls a hand from his pocket to rub at his chin, black eyes sliding away. "She's going to drive over with Emily and Sam," he replies. Then, as if realizing he's delaying the inevitable, he takes a deep breath, his gaze lifting to her pale face. "I was just talking to Paul and Embry—"

"And Harry?" Bella is surprised by the sharpness of her tone but realizes she doesn't actually care about Jake's reaction. If they're all going to start treating her like a leper, what purpose does it serve for her to be meek and kind in return?

Jake's brows lower, regarding her with a level stare. "They're just worried about you."

"Worried?" This was not the reason she had suspected to be the source behind the strange reactions she'd encountered from the three men, surprise and disbelief clouding her gaze as her brow furrows. "Worried about what?" While she's grateful to find she isn't losing her mind, she also can't imagine what the issue can be.

Jake inhales deeply, his broad chest rising and falling with the motion. He closes his eyes, his chin dropping to his chest, as if he's reluctant…or unable to speak. Several seconds pass in which Bella's gaze is fixed on his stony face, fingers twitching impatiently, wondering why he doesn't simply spit it out. When Jake finally lifts his head, his brows are knit together, expression intent. "Have you been to the hospital lately?"

Bella's surprise only intensifies. "To the hospital? No, of course not!" She stares at Jake, willing him to explain himself but he simply blows out a breath, as if exasperated by her answer.

"Maybe you had a cold or something—or strep throat—and went to see a doctor…?" The words trail away, as if she is somehow supposed to understand where he's going with this line of questioning.

Impatience begins to mix with her confusion, Bella's lips pursing with exasperation. "No, I have not been to the hospital—for strep throat or a cold or anything else." The words are abrupt, unable and unwilling to conceal her growing frustration. How can a recent visit to the hospital justify the strange reactions she'd gotten from Harry, Embry and Paul—and now Jake? Her voice is firm and low when she speaks. "What is this about, Jake?"

His head tilts back, staring up at the sky. She is about to question him again when he suddenly faces her, a broad smile seeming to indicate he's solved the mystery. "Did you buy something from the thrift store? Your coat? Your shirt?"

Bella nearly flings up her hands with frustration. "No! I have not been shopping at all, much less at a thrift store!" She realizes too late that she is speaking too loudly, her voice carrying over the roar of the waves and the burble of conversation around the barbecue and driftwood pile. She sees several people have turned, glancing at them curiously…including Harry, Embry, Paul, and now Quil, all clustered around the grill.

Bella's gaze cuts away, warmth spiraling up her throat as she furiously whispers, "I don't know what is going on but if you guys are all going to worry about me, the least you can do is tell me—"

Lavender. _It's not bad just…sweet._

Harry's embrace had been one of tobacco and leather, masculine, comforting. She had only detected the mix of scents because she was so close to him…just as she had only smelled the fleeting fragrance of lavender when Alice briefly embraced her in the woods behind her father's house.

The mental images click into place, Bella's gaze unseeing. The mix of rosemary and lavender in the urns behind the Cullens' house. Esme's hand drifting down her arm—in this same rain coat—before she'd darted forward to kiss Edward's cheek.

The gaudy illustrations of the floriography web site, ornately Victorian and rich, unlike any blossoms she'd seen in reality. Morning glories. Fortget-me-nots. Amaranth. Lavender.

The hospital. Where Dr. Cullen works.

The Cullens. Bella's eyes shift into focus, noting as if from a distance that her hands have gone ice cold, the roar of the waves abruptly loud to her ears.

"Bella, are you okay?"

Her gaze drifts to Jake's face and she is mildly surprised to see his expression is twisted with worry. His large hands are hovering at waist level, as if prepared to catch her from falling.

She forces her gaze to fix on him, searching, wondering. Her voice sounds far away to her own ears when she speaks. "I can't break client confidentiality." She says the words slowly, brown eyes unblinking, watching for Jake's reaction.

It's as she expects. "You mean you're treating one of those freaks? !"

Though she doesn't fully understand, though she has even more questions than before, Bella feels a sudden calm at the knowledge that she was right. "Freaks?" she echoes, finally absorbing what Jake has just said.

"The Cullens are freaks, Bella, even if I can't explain why," Jake hisses, shoving his hands back into his pockets now that he's certain she isn't going to faint.

A line forms between Bella's brows. "How do you know the Cullens, Jake?" she asks, barely able to restrain the defensiveness in her voice. In what world would he, or Harry, or Embry, be thrown into the same circle? Though she knows she is giving away her bias, Bella can't help adding, "The only thing I can think is that you know _of_ them…because if you knew them, you wouldn't say such a thing."

It is strange to see Jake's features tensed with frustration and worry, his usual congenial smile long gone. "They're dangerous, Bella." The words are determined, not to be argued with.

All of the color drains from Bella's cheeks with a sudden realization, her heart pounding in her ears. Her voice is a broken whisper when she asks, "Is this about the deer?"

"They _told_ you about that?"

"No." Bella's reply is faint, her gaze falling to her feet, as if assuring that the world is still there. "It was in the file…"

Jake's features twist with confusion before abruptly clearing. "I heard about that…from Matt at the station." He shakes his head. "Goddamn freaks."

"Jake, I don't understand." Bella's voice is a plea, begging for him to explain.

"There's nothing to understand," Jake answers, straightening to his full height. "They're dangerous. That's all you need to know."

Bella's expression shifts from pleading to anger as she sees that he's going to stonewall. "It's my job to help him—"

"There is no helping any of them," Jake interrupts, his voice low and unyielding. "I'm telling you, they're dangerous. Maybe you should stay on the res tonight—"

It's Bella's turn to interrupt. "You're being ridiculous." She glances over his shoulder to where Harry and the other men continue to huddle around the grill. "You're all being ridiculous." She sees now it was a mistake to come, that she is even more of an outsider than she had thought. "And unless you want to explain what this is all about, I'm going home." She fixes him with a level stare, which Jake returns unflinchingly, silent.

"That's what I thought." Bella shakes her head then turns on her heel, striding up the path and away from First Beach with long, frustrated steps.

Her mind swirls with questions as she slams into her truck, trying to make sense of everything that just happened. Why are members of the tribe interested in the charges against Edward? And why are they so quick to believe it to be true? Besides, Jake's judgment hadn't been only for Edward but for all of the Cullens, even the respected doctor. Bella can't help scoffing at this, angrily stomping on the gas as she thinks about Esme's love and concern for Edward, Alice's playfulness and precocity—their generosity in loaning her their books…She thinks of Edward and her eyes briefly close.

While she knows she is biased about her client, unable to clearly assess his qualities, she knows in her heart the condemnation of the other Cullens is entirely unfair.

As she follows La Push Road inland to Forks, Bella's jaw is set, brown eyes blazing. Clearly, her earlier attempts at research had ended prematurely. If she is going to find any answers, she is going to have to dig deeper.


	15. Break Down

Raewright wrote a review that has stuck with me:_ This feels like a spring turned every chapter. I wonder when it will be undone. _The beginning of that uncoiling is beginning, I think. Thanks for your patience with the slow unwinding of this story, and for all of your amazing reviews.

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><p><em>In the presence of reality that kind of person invariably breaks down.<em>

_A Room with a View_

**fourteen**

The librarian arrives five minutes before opening, swinging out of her hatchback with a disposable cup of coffee in one hand, and the keys to the library doors in the other. She is blowing on the slit in the lid, recalling with chagrin how she'd burned the roof of her mouth the day before. She is so distracted by this thought that she nearly drops the coffee upon finding a pale young woman waiting directly outside the entrance, one foot impatiently tapping the pavement.

"Oh, I didn't see you there!" the librarian calls out nervously. The woman simply smiles tightly in return, nervously pushing thick strands of dark hair behind her ears. She looks vaguely familiar to the librarian, which isn't surprising given the small size of the town, but it isn't until they're both inside that the librarian recalls who she is. _Charlie Swan's daughter_, the librarian thinks to herself, gazing curiously at the slender figure hunched before one of the computer monitors, intently focused on the screen.

The librarian does not notice anything noticeably different in Bella's demeanor or appearance; her pallor is perhaps a little more pale with lack of sleep, chestnut hair slightly more wild due to having tossed and turned the night before—but she is still recognizable, the same slim, quiet girl who had visited Forks every summer and haunted these same shelves. Internally, however, Bella feels utterly different, as if the entire world has shifted.

She had barely slept the night before, nearly tingling with anticipation and eagerness. Theories had bounced through her mind, but are barely articulated before she has rejected them outright. She will find out what is going on. She must, if only to regain her sanity.

Determination and purpose burns in her veins, overpowering any sense of hesitation, driving her to understand the increasing confusion that has taken over her life.

It will no longer do. She cannot tell herself it doesn't matter, that in failing to pry or dig she will somehow get past the inconsistencies, the strange occurrences that have no explanation. In learning that the Cullens are not only known to the Quileute tribe but are abhorred by them, she has realized she will get past nothing—not with the mystery deepening around her everywhere she looks. How were some of the Quileutes able to tell that she had been in the Cullens' presence? She had assumed at the time that it was scent, especially given Seth's reaction in the truck, but given time to dwell on everything, she is no longer so sure. Why would Jake claim that all of the Cullens are dangerous? Given his knowledge of the charge against Edward, she could understand his condemnation being limited to the teenager—but Jake had included all of them in his claims.

It is no longer only about the Cullens and in discovering this, Bella feels free to investigate as much as she can.

Her conviction not only overpowers any hesitation but also blasts through any of the self-consciousness she might have normally felt. She couldn't care that the librarian was surprised to see her waiting at the doors on Sunday morning, merely smiling politely as she ducked inside. She had tapped her fingers impatiently over the mouse as she'd waited for the computer to power on, then was soon absorbed in her mission, hungrily scanning the screen as her fingers intermittently typed away.

Nearly an hour passes before her search begins to slow, fingers tapping more sporadically upon the keys, a frown dogging her brow as she trawls to the bottom of the search results. Her lip is more frequently caught between her teeth, head bowed in thought, before she thinks of some new permutation she has not tried, some new reference point she has not checked.

But every search results in the same outcome. There is nothing. Bella stares at the screen with frank disbelief, bottom lip growing red as she continues to worry it between frustrated teeth. How can this be? How can there be no reference to any of them?

She can understand the two teenagers failing to use typical social networking sites; though this is not the norm for their demographic, neither Alice or Edward have struck her as normal in the least—so the lack of profiles in the search results hadn't entirely surprised her. But she had thought there might be some record of their attendance at Forks High, glowering faces amidst the crowds in football game photos, or membership in the journalism club…or something. She had even checked the various pages for the Denali Borough School District after recalling Edward's court file had listed Cantwell as his previous residence. But there are no results there, either.

While Bella can reason that the lack of results for Edward and Alice isn't impossible given their youth, it makes no sense that there would no hits for their foster father. "The man is a doctor," she murmurs aloud, too bewildered to realize she is voicing her thoughts. There are no results for Carlisle Cullen at Forks Hospital, no results for any of the hospitals in the state of Alaska, no record of his licensing in Washington state, and no history of past licensing elsewhere.

She can find no record of his medical school attendance, no college that boasts him as an alumni, no memberships in typical medical associations, not even an entry or two in the major medical journals.

Esme had been Bella's last search subject as she knows the least about her background and business—but there are no sites advertising Esme's interior design work, no customer reviews, no portfolio of photos proudly displaying past projects.

It's as if the Cullens don't exist. Bella shakes her head, a low growl of frustration vibrating in her throat. She has barely slept, rising with the sun to shower, eat breakfast, then impatiently pace the floor of the living room until she knew the library would be open. How can she have failed to find anything?

Quickly, as if to convince herself she isn't losing her mind, Bella types in her own name. To her relief and frustration, she sees several pages of results: a white pages listing, two hits for the University of Washington—one for the alumni directory and another for the School of Social Work—and a record of a donation she'd made to a Seattle nonprofit. Mixed within are results for women with her same name: one in Des Moines and another apparently living in Wales.

Bella presses the pads of her fingers to her brows, struggling to suppress the feelings of desperation and anger building in her chest. She forces herself to breathe slowly, to think. Looking up, she drops her hands to the keyboard and types in several other names. For Renee, there are two social networking profiles, tagged photos from an astral balancing workshop she had apparently attended, and a membership in some kind of book exchange web site. For Charlie there are hits for various criminal arrests, records of donations to the Sierra Club and the Audubon Society, and an obituary. Bella chokes back the sudden lump in her throat and forces herself to turn away from the computer with blind eyes.

She knows this must be further evidence of…something. No one lives an undocumented life, not even individuals as quiet and unobtrusive as herself…or Charlie. She remembers her suspicion weeks ago that Edward might be some sort of hacker, recalling his uncanny ability to know details about her that should not have been public. She wonders if he's the source of the black out of information. But why?

Resigned, she slides from the stool, gaze blank as she turns towards the library doors. Her mind is empty, unable to think of any other resource, unable to fully believe that the results could be so uniformly nonexistent. She is so stymied by this discovery that she is not even able to think of next steps, simply marveling at the impossibility of the Cullens being so invisible. For the first time, she wonders if she's imagined their existence entirely.

Bella's lips quirk, knowing this is silly. Just at that moment, having crossed the waxed tile of the library floor, she lifts a hand to push open the glass door—and nearly shoves it into the plump woman standing directly outside.

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry!" Bella exclaims, jerking her hand back, cheeks immediately stained bright red.

The woman simply smiles broadly, pulling the door wide and gesturing for Bella to step through. "No worries—I know you social workers have a lot on your mind!"

Bella stops short, gaze jerking to the woman's rosy, friendly features. There is something vaguely familiar about the round shape of her face, the cap of her hair a vibrant red that doesn't come across as quite natural. Bella's brow furrows, trying to place the stranger; she is about to open her mouth to speak when the woman pipes up again.

"I should have introduced myself—I forget I may know everyone even if they don't all know me!" she chortles.

Bella shakes her head, trying to gain her bearings, forcing herself to remember that Forks is small, and that even if she doesn't feel like a part of the community, she is probably still very well known to its members.

"Shelly Cope," the woman continues, small teeth flashing with a dimpled grin. "Margery's told me all about you."

The pieces finally come together, Bella's head lifting with the realization. "Your Margery's little sister."

"Well, not so little!" Shelly laughs, the sound a loud peal that is at odds with the gray day, the empty, almost desolate street before the library, and Bella's own bemused mood. "She told me you'd been working with one of the Cullen kids," she shakes her head, the motion making it impossible for her to notice the appalled look that flashes across Bella's features. "I don't know how you guys do it—I've got it easy, just working at the front desk at the high school!"

Bella's mouth moves but no words come out, struggling to suppress the urge to castigate her boss for sharing client information that should have been confidential. Shelly mistakes the intention, lifting a hand dismissively, "Oh, don't be modest. I know how hard Margery works, and Janet, too. I imagine you're no different—especially with such a troublemaker on your hands!"

Bella finally manages to speak, her curiosity overcoming her ethics regarding the confidentiality of her client's case. "Troublemaker?"

"Oh, I should have guessed, being in your profession, that you'd see the good in him…somehow." The last word comes out wryly, her blue eyes rolling. "But, he's such a surly fellow, isn't he?" Shelly asks rhetorically. "Always coming in with notes as to why he's missed this class or that, and the teachers always complain that he never answers when called on. I don't know how his foster parents handle him!"

Bella's lips tighten, forcing herself to remain silent, to refrain from defending Edward. She knows nothing good will come of it—not with someone who so clearly has an affinity for spreading information…and who also happens to be the sister of her boss.

"Of course, those people are saints given what they've done for those kids," Shelly's voice has dropped to a whisper though the sidewalk before the library remains empty.

A momentary flash of hesitation crosses Bella's dark brown gaze, almost undetectable, before she leans towards the school clerk with a conspiratorial air. "Oh, I know," Bella murmurs in agreement. "Such a sacrifice."

Shelly shakes her head, her tone familiar when she continues, "Can you believe even their transcripts are hard copies?"

Bella doesn't have to feign her surprise, brows lifting. "Really?"

"We got a letter from the superintendent and everything!" Shelly marvels, clearly impressed someone at that level would be involved.

"Because electronic copies…" Bella prompts, allowing her voice to trail away as she struggles to hide her intense curiosity.

"Well, _I_ wouldn't want to be responsible for their natural parents finding out where they are!" Shelly exclaims, lifting a plump hand to her ample bosom.

"Oh, of course not!" Bella mimics Shelly's reaction as best she can, brown eyes wide as she emphatically shakes her head.

"Especially with as much money as the Cullens have—can you imagine?"

Bella is thoroughly lost and trying to resolve how to direct the conversation when Shelly leans close again, her voice a whisper. "Has Edward confided in you…about the abuse?"

It takes all of Bella's willpower to simply swallow and shake her head.

Shelly frowns, so obviously disappointed with the lack of gossip that it might have been funny were the subject something other than Edward's traumatic past. "The things I've heard…" she starts.

"From who?" Bella can't help asking. Shelly looks startled and, too late, Bella realizes the question comes off as challenging.

Clearly unaccustomed to defending the sources of her rumors, Shelly's tone contains a hint of petulance. "It's common knowledge, you know!" she protests. "And you just have to look at those two to know someone screwed them up. Besides, why else would the state superintendent request their transcripts not be placed online—or anything else for that matter!"

"To keep their natural parents from tracking them down," Bella faintly murmurs. It is an utterly logical reason, one that makes perfect sense given Edward's background, his behavior, his demeanor. Bella doesn't realize she has stopped breathing, Shelly's voice appearing to come from far away.

"Exactly!" The redhead's features are like a pantomime, Bella's gaze blurring as the plump woman continues to speak. "I'm surprised your father never filled you in! I heard from Matt at the station that there are restraining orders on file and everything—though the first goal is to make sure the children are never found."

A rushing sound fills Bella's ears as she recalls something Edward had told her, brown eyes losing focus as his words echo in her mind. _They took us in with no question, gave no thought to the danger we presented_…She realizes that this is what he had meant, that his abusive birth mother and father could jeopardize Carlisle and Esme's lives. She had thought his words mysterious when in reality it was just his reluctance to speak about the trauma he'd suffered.

Just as the lack of an online presence was nothing nefarious…it was simply his foster parents working to make sure Alice and Edward's whereabouts remained confidential.

She had insisted on seeing mysteries where there are none, attempting to solve riddles when the answers are so simple.

"Are you alright, dear?"

Bella's gaze darts up, realizing with a start that she has not heard the last several words Shelly has spoken. "Oh, yes," she replies, her voice weak even to her own ears. "I think I just need to go home and eat something." She tries to smile but knows the expression is more of a grimace. "It was nice meeting you." Shelly opens her mouth but Bella is wary of being drawn further into conversation with the gossipy woman, wanting only to get away and think. "Tell Margery I said 'hi'," she calls over her shoulder as she turns to the parking lot.

It is only when she is in the quiet of the cab of her truck that she realizes she is nearly panting, her breath coming in strangled gasps.

She has been so wrong. So completely wrong. Bella gazes blindly through the windshield, unaware that tears are blurring her vision, erasing the gray of the parking lot before her. She doesn't worry about being seen, doesn't think about how she might appear, teary and gasping for breath in the parking lot of the Forks Library on a dreary Sunday morning. All she can do is absorb the reality of what she has learned, dwelling on how dangerously wrong she has been. Wrong about the mystery of the Cullens, seeing enigmas where there was only a desire for privacy. Wrong about her motives, thinking she had somehow pushed past her impossible attraction to her client by acknowledging she would do nothing about it. Isn't this insistence on his mysteriousness simply an excuse to justify her fascination with him?

A sob cracks from her throat, her hands clenched fists around the steering wheel. She wants to disappear. She wants to cease this existence, where the only person to whom she feels any connection is a troubled seventeen year old boy. Bella lowers her forehead to the steering wheel as dry sobs shake loose from her chest, realizing with despair that of all the things she wants, she does not want to have never met him.

It is several minutes before the tears subside and she can only be grateful that it is still so early that the parking lot has remained empty. Wiping angrily at her cheeks, she twists the key in the ignition, the engine protesting as she grinds the gears before turning into the street.

Bella doesn't notice that when she shrugs out of her rain coat, it doesn't quite catch on the hook and drifts to the floor of the entry way. She drops her keys with a clatter on the end table before slumping to the sofa. She barely recalls the drive back home and cannot summon any concern for the state of her mind that such a thing is possible. Drawing her knees to her chest, she gazes blankly out the front window, her pale features reflecting only shock and sadness.

A multitude of thoughts drift through her mind as she watches the light shift beyond the windows, transitioning from the muted brightness of midday to the shadows of twilight. She does not move to eat or use the bathroom, simply clutching her legs as she thinks, and thinks, and thinks.

She knows if she had made an effort to stay in touch with Charlie's coworkers, who doubled as his drinking partners and friends, she might have learned about the restraining orders against the Cullens' natural parents. Or, had she mentioned to Sue that she had been assigned a client when the opportunity presented itself, she might have discovered what had turned the tribe against the family. Even taking the time to make small talk with her own coworkers might have provided more information; clearly, Margery had a direct line in to the local town gossip through her sister.

But she doesn't know how to talk to people. Or she doesn't bother trying to learn. She has remained isolated despite returning to the town of her birth, a community so small that she had gotten condolences for months after Charlie's death, barely able to step foot in the grocery store without receiving sympathetic stares. She has so often felt like an outsider, whether on the reservation or in Forks…but what has she ever done to alter that?

Is it any wonder then that the insightful, morose boy forced into her presence is the one person for whom she feels anything? She is clearly broken, making no effort with people who care, people who worry about her—while defending the one person apparently everyone knows to be utterly damaged and dangerous. Had she ever bothered to take the time to actually talk to the people around her, she might have discovered the very simple reason for Edward's behavior rather than imagining grand mysteries to solve.

Bella lowers her forehead to her knees, trembling with the knowledge that she must end this misadventure now—before it's too late.


	16. Break the Whole of Life

Thanks to The Lemonade Stand for nominating Everlasting Why as a fic of the week. & thank you to all of you for your reviews.

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><p><em>I must suffer and grow old away from him. I cannot break the whole of life for his sake.<em>

_A Room with a View_

**fifteen**

Were the consequences not so dire, it might be comical how obvious it is that Bella has not slept; in fact, for the past several days the little sleeping she has done has not even been in her bed. For the first time since she returned to Forks, Bella has attempted to watch television, desperate for the chatter and noise and nonsense to distract her. With a throw over her legs, she has drifted off to the blare of infomercials in the small hours of the morning, relieved to find her dreams marred by the image of too tan announcers with smiles like wounds…after all, they are keeping her from dreaming of him.

Her head has jerked upright several times already, startled from split seconds of microsleep by the tromp of feet outside her office or the slam of a door further down the hall. Bella braces her hands upon the desk, determined to keep from slumping over it as she had the previous day. She stares blearily down at the stack of files upon its surface, the words swimming before her gaze as she contemplates trying to focus long enough to attempt to audit records. It is in this manner that Edward finds her, white hands pressed to the surface of her desk as if she is physically keeping it from floating away, the lavender bruises beneath her eyes so pronounced that concern instantly fills his gaze.

"What's the matter?" he asks, his voice abrupt. He leans across her desk but keeps his hands shoved in the pockets of his hoodie, as if he might learn the answer by examining her more closely.

Bella gazes up at him foggily, unable to hide the slight sway of her head. "You didn't knock."

Edward's pale brow furrows deeply in response. "Of what concern is that? What's happened? Are you alright?"

Bella forces a bright smile that is almost genuine given how delirious she is with lack of sleep. "I'm fine." She pauses, a faint frown crossing her brow as the smile fades. "You always seem to forget these sessions are not about me."

"But clearly," Edward's voice reveals the slightest hint of exasperation, "something is wrong. That," he goes on as he reluctantly sinks to the stool, "should take precedence over anything to do with me."

"But it's my job, Edward," Bella insists, her expression pleading as she gazes at him across the desk. "It's my job to do this," she continues, brown eyes falling to her hands. She draws them together into a nervous clasp, unable to go on, unable to lift her gaze. She feels too raw and is being too honest; she is far too tired to conceal her thoughts, to present the unflappable façade she has never fully succeeded in maintaining around him.

Edward's voice is very soft when he breaks the lengthening silence, "You sound as if you're trying to convince yourself."

Bella refuses to lift her gaze. It takes all of her willpower and determination to refrain from answering, to simply brightly reply while stubbornly staring at her hands, "Do you know we have only two appointments after this one?" She inhales. "You'll be finished with the mandated visits in three weeks."

Even without raising her head, she can hear the anger in Edward's voice. "Is that good news to you?"

Bella forces another bright smile as she finally lifts her eyes, answering his question with a question. "Don't you want to be finished with this?"

To her dismay, Edward simply lifts his brows as if the question is ridiculous, as if she already knows the answer. In that moment, Bella would have given all of the money in the world to stop the blush that is creeping up her throat. There is expectation in his gaze, likely the result of her own foolish rush to his house, her reckless inability to control her impulses—expectation borne from the hope she has given him.

"How was your weekend?" she chirps, aware she is avoiding the mess she's created but unable to address the reality of why he's there.

Edward's dark brows lower again, regarding her with a frustrated stare. "Back to niceties, I see."

Bella struggles to suppress her temper, wondering how even in her sleep deprived state he can succeed in riling her. She somehow manages to sound calm when she asks, "What would you prefer to talk about?"

Edward shifts on the stool, pulling his hands from his pockets restlessly. His eyes, golden again, shift between her pale features, the floor, his own hands, and the ceiling—as if he cannot settle on what to say, how to be. He finally asks, "What have you been reading?"

Bella's face somehow grows more pale, her gaze dropping guiltily to the desk. "One of the books…" she begins, then bites her lip, unable to admit the full truth. "One of the books Alice lent me," she finally answers. She's very conscious of the fact that she is dodging his questions as he has dodged hers, that she is not lying…but she is not sharing everything. Before he can pry further, she quickly continues, "You must thank her for the books—and your father. I'm not sure when I'll get through them all."

There is no mistaking the hint of eagerness that enters Edward's gaze, the corners of his mouth tilting upward ever so slightly. "I can retrieve them whenever you like."

She can't help sucking in a breath, protesting, "I'm sure I can swing by the hospital and return them to Dr. Cullen myself!" She cannot believe how far this has gotten out of hand, how hopeful his gaze—and how disappointed he now appears with her response.

"It's no problem—"

"Regardless," Bella cuts him off, her tone firm and determined. "It wouldn't be appropriate." Before she can stop herself, she thinks of Edward at her house, on her porch, smiling and eager as he was only moments ago, features bright with anticipation. Bella closes her eyes, her cheeks warming as her pulse thuds in her throat.

"Was it appropriate for you to come by my house last week?" Edward's voice is harsh and Bella's eyes fly open, darting to his pale, handsome face. His golden gaze is challenging, staring at her levelly.

"No," she wearily replies, unsurprised by his anger at her rejection. "It was not right…and I shouldn't have come."

Perhaps she should be no less surprised at his reaction to these words, but Bella can't help flinching when Edward suddenly shoots to his feet, the stool nearly clattering over with the force of his movement. "How can you say that?" he asks, the words more astonished than angry. He thrusts a pale hand into the wild messiness of his hair as he looks down at her helplessly. "I don't understand—Alice said—" The words stop abruptly, his lips a thin line as confusion and hurt dart across his amber gaze.

Bella's eyes sink shut, knowing she has done this to him. She has led him to this. It is all her fault. Edward's voice drifts down to her, a frustrated mutter, "Maybe I should commit a misdemeanor so I can get assigned more sessions."

Bella's eyes fly to his, her heart crashing against her ribs. "That's crazy," she protests, the words a strangled croak. Her hands begin to violently shake, her body somehow too hot and too cold all at once. Her throat suddenly closes; Bella abruptly shoves away from her desk, not sure what she intends, just knowing she can't get air, she can't speak, nearly bending double in her chair as she struggles to inhale. Is this not what she wants? To see him? To know him? To be near him? And God help her, he wants it, too.

"Bella." Her eyes are squeezed shut but she senses him round the desk, hears his approach, the whisper of movement as he drops to his knees before her…and she does not protest. The cool sensation of his hands on her own breaks her, this deliberate touch, this final breach of all her barriers.

"No, no, no, no," she begs, her mind filled with the image of forget-me-nots, limp and bruised against the glass of her windshield.

"Bella, please let me explain," his breath is sweet, a whisper against her finger tips clasped within his own.

"This is all my fault, all my fault," she gasps, shaking her head, denying his confession. She can't allow herself to hear the words she knows in her heart she longs for—but doesn't deserve. "We can't do this. This isn't right. We can't—"

"I know," Edward's voice is sorrowful, his hands slowly withdrawing from her own. The shaking had begun to ease at his touch and she clenches them into fists to keep them from trembling anew.

"This isn't right," Bella insists, lifting her hands to her face, pressing her fists to her eyes. She is suddenly aware of just how exhausted she feels and wonders distantly if this is all a delirious dream.

"I know," Edward says again. His voice is soft when he continues, "But I want—a chance," his voice cuts off, as if seeking the right words. "A chance to explain."

Bella nods her head blindly. She can sense the meaning beneath his words and a feeling of cold resignation fills her bones, her hands trembling over her eyes as she struggles not to cry—pleading to whatever power above that she not weep in his presence.

She knows that what he means is a chance to say good-bye.

"Not here," she whispers. It is the one thing she'll allow herself—that their last meeting not be in this place, this tiny joke of a room beneath the glare of a single fluorescent bulb—not when she is so close to breaking.

"No, not here," Edward's voice is equally resigned. "Can you come to my house? Tonight?"

Bella nods and with the realization that her eyes are dry, finally allows her hands to fall. Gray spots speckle her vision as she stares at her lap. Her voice is a whisper. "At your house…tonight."

Edward's voice is soft. "Okay." He pauses. "I'll be waiting."

Bella simply nods but cannot bring herself to look up, even after the door has clicked shut behind him.

It is futile to try and focus on the case files. To keep from falling asleep, she rises, pacing the small space before her desk; she has to resist the urge to kick over the stool where Edward has sat during their sessions these past weeks, fighting to keep from screaming. Why him? Why now? What is wrong with her that it should be him, at this point in their lives?

Why couldn't they have met five or ten years from now, when their age difference wouldn't have seemed so significant? They both would have been done with college, on equal footing, at least more so than now. She pushes away the thought that it is not just his age that makes her feelings inappropriate, but that he is her troubled client as well. She tells herself they might have met at a library or a book shop, or in some comical way that only occurs in movies, like on a boat tour of the Puget Sound that's suddenly caught in a storm…

She continues to pace, lips tight, her thoughts shouting through her skull. Why couldn't he be immature or petulant, too juvenile to seem at all appealing? If he only came across like a seventeen year old high school student, sneering and immature, she could have remained professional, drawing the appropriate boundaries. Why does he have to be so insightful and interesting? She rails at herself at this thought; no matter how fascinating he might be, he is still a teenager, he is still her client. Why does she have to feel this way at all?

Bella finally rounds her desk, forcing away the thought of Edward on his knees, the sensation of his hands around her own, and sinks to her chair. She realizes she is shaking and wraps her arms around her body, fighting the sense of panic she feels that tonight will be the last time she sees him, the last time they'll speak.

But it must end. They can't go on. This isn't right and now that it's in the open, she can see all the more clearly how true that is. Bella slowly slumps to the desk, head cradled upon her arms, telling herself she is merely tired, she is only resting…but her figure soon begins to rock with sobs she muffles against her sleeves.

It is several hours later when she wakes. She groggily lifts her head and abruptly squints, pupils struggling to adjust between the darkness of her cradled arms and the glare of the fluorescent light. As she gains her bearings, she realizes the corridor beyond her door is eerily silent, no sound of foreign voices or tromping feet penetrating through. She reaches beneath her desk for her backpack and pulls out her cell phone. Bella's eyes widen as she sees it's nearly seven.

Shoving the phone in her bag, she shoots up from her desk and bursts into the hall. She ducks into the darkened reception area and fumbles her way towards the bathroom. Clicking on the light, she flinches away from the pale, wan face in the mirror. She runs the faucet and splashes cool water on her face, trying to wake up more fully, trying to at least feel more fresh than she looks.

Soon, she is darting back through the reception area and down the linoleum floored corridor to the fire door. She is startled by the cool evening air, pausing just beyond the threshold as she takes in the quiet woods draped in dusk surrounding the parking lot. Her breath forms wisps before her lips and she yanks her rain coat from her backpack, tugging it on as she approaches her truck.

It is only when she is in the cab, the vents blowing warm air against her skin, that she hesitates. Her gaze is unfocused as she stares into the shadowed woods, lost in thought, reluctant to begin the drive. Then, with a sudden realization, her eyes sink shut. If she is honest with herself, she knows she is hesitating not because she is uncertain whether she should go to Edward's home a third time, but because she doesn't yet want this all to be over.

Gritting her teeth, Bella cranks the wheel, turning from the parking lot of the Clallam County Community Health Center and roaring down the highway.

The street lights have just begun to flicker to life as she speeds through Forks meager downtown; the few cars that pass her have not yet turned on their headlights. On Calawah Way, however, the road is bereft of any traffic or street lights and it seems all that much darker by comparison. She peers up at the tree tops where the clouds still appear bright against the relief of evergreens, and briefly wonders why the Cullens live so remotely when it can't be at all convenient for reaching the hospital in an emergency. She is distracted from this thought when she spots the inconspicuous drive, turning through the brush and dense archway of trees that shadow the entrance to the Cullens' property. Given the half-light, she is initially not quite certain she has reached the right spot. Then, as the expanse of rich lawn comes into view, she exhales with relief.

The sentiment is soon gone, though, when she reaches the top of the drive and sees the cedar-shingled house is entirely dark. It hadn't occurred to her to call ahead and now she has no way of doing so, having never entered the number Edward provided on that first day into her own phone. She reaches for her cell, checks the time, and frowns. Can they have gone out to a late dinner? She stares up at the blank windows, curtains drawn, blacker than the coming twilight. They can't yet all be in bed…

And Bella suddenly knows she doesn't want to have to come back. She wants this entire debacle to be over and done with. Taking a deep breath, she swings out of the cab and approaches the shadowed porch with determined steps.

The crunch of gravel sounds abnormally loud beneath her feet, the stairs creaking ominously as she climbs up to the porch. Bella hoped she might hear the blare of a television or the sound of chatting voices once she'd reached the door but the house remains completely, eerily silent.

Inhaling, she lifts a hand and knocks. Several seconds pass and she can't help the sudden despair that fills her stomach, wondering if this is some trick, some terrible prank—that he's lured her here to laugh at her from the windows.

But the door suddenly swings ajar and Bella sucks in a surprised breath. "Edward."

Only, the hurt, confused young man who'd held her hands earlier that day is gone. Instead, a glaring, stormy figure has taken his place, lips tight as he comes onto the porch and abruptly slams the door shut behind him. "What are you doing here?" The words are loud, his voice nearly a shout.

"I-I—"

"Spit it out, Bella, I don't have all day." The snideness of his tone is astonishing and, despite his snapped request, she can't speak, lips parted as she stares at him dumbly.

"I'm getting very tired of your games," he goes on when she continues to fail to reply, dark brows drawn together, his voice low and angry.

"My games…" Bella finally speaks but the words are faint, too stunned by his manner to absorb what he's saying.

"You should never have come here." Edward's words are clipped, his nostrils flaring as he glowers down at her.

Bella begins to realize that she's made a terrible mistake. Should she really be so surprised by this turn of events, by his abrupt reversal? As everyone had tried to tell her, he was damaged, he was dangerous. She should have expected that in the moment he might have been most vulnerable, explaining his feelings, telling her good-bye…he has instead completely backtracked and is now pushing her away.

"You might as well leave if you're just going to stand her repeating what I say." His lips twist as he speaks, pale features hateful and insulting.

Bella takes a step back, and then another, staring at him with continued shock, her face drained of all color. A momentary burst of anger flares in her belly, wanting to defend herself, longing to shout at him…but she knows this is her fault, this is her doing. "I-I'm sorry," she finally stutters before turning on her heel and tumbling back down the steps to her truck.

She is gasping for breath when she ducks into the cab, blindly staring beyond the windshield to the gray wall of the forest surrounding the Cullen's house. Though her heart is pounding and she doesn't fully trust herself to be on the road, she wrenches the key in the ignition and yanks the wheel to turn down the gravel drive.

The light has weakened further in the few short minutes that she'd stood on the Cullens' porch being angrily berated and insulted by Edward. The entire episode doesn't feel quite real; the old growth forests, bathed in half-gloom, draped in the moss so common to this wet region, do nothing to help dispel the impression that it might have been a dream. Bella shakes her head, resisting the urge to luxuriate in denial yet again. Knuckles white, she clenches the steering wheel, her face a mask of hurt and confusion. She stomps on the gas, eager to reach the road, promising herself she can cry when she gets home.

The crunch and groan of crumpling metal as something crashes into the back of the truck shocks her from her thoughts. The rear of the truck jerks sideways with the force and Bella slams on the brakes, momentarily terrified she's going to spin from the drive and into a tree, pulse racing as she wrenches the wheel, trying to course-correct.

As swiftly as the crash occurred, a chaos of noise and movement filling her with panic, everything is just as suddenly silent and still again. Bella gasps for air as she registers that the truck is now askew across the churned gravel of the driveway, the headlights failing to pierce the surrounding woods. The only sound is the rumble of the engine mixing with her ragged breathing.

She thinks of a buck, antlers lifted high, arcing across the drive, abruptly stopped short by the bulk of steel and rusted metal. Her hand drops to the latch of the driver's side door, adrenaline coursing through her veins as she tries to remember if she still has the number for the station in her phone, if dispatch will be able to call animal control if the buck is alive but fatally injured.

The door abruptly slams shut, metal crumpling and groaning again, the driver's side window cracking with the force. "Stay in the car!" It is Edward, his hand braced against the door, his eyes wild and desperate as he stares at her through the cracked glass.

Bella can only gasp, jerking back from the window with the shock of the noise, the force, his sudden, frantic appearance. "Stay in the car!" he shouts again.

"Edward?" Bella speaks his name with astonishment, struggling to understand, blinking as he suddenly disappears, a flit of movement too fast for her eyes to see—and then reappears in the glow of the headlights several feet away.

His lean frame is thrown into relief by the twin lights, cones of yellow warmth in the coming night, unrelieved by stars. He is bent, wrestling a man to the ground, arms swinging so quickly she cannot make out the motions. Her heart pounds in her chest as the other man flails, struggling to get off the ground, twisting and flipping in a manner that should not be possible, should not occur outside of a special effects studio. This man is a stranger to her, someone she has never seen before, his head crowned by blond curls, his features twisted as he grapples against Edward, against the ground, writhing and growling, fighting to make his way towards the truck.

There is a blur of movement in her peripheral vision and suddenly Alice is among them, her tiny frame pulling at the strange man and shoving at Edward all at once. "No! No! Don't hurt him! I've _seen_ him!" Her voice is a thin wail, crying out to the tree tops.

Bella can barely breathe, blinking as if somehow this impossible sight will disappear, as if the quick, fluid movements, many too fast to be seen, will make sense, will slow down. Alice is between them, and then on Edward's back, and then flat on the ground. Bella moves to the door again, thinking to help the tiny girl, unable to believe Alice isn't hurt. Abruptly, Edward swings an arm and the blond man is crashing back, propelled deep into the forest, moving so fast it briefly appears he's flying. The sound of branches cracking and breaking reaches Bella in her truck and she freezes in horror, realizing Edward may have just killed someone.

Edward is at her window again, his gaze desperate. "You have to get out of here! Now!"

The unreality of what she's seeing, the impossibility of this moment, finally propels Bella to do as he asks, needlessly twisting the key in the ignition before she realizes the engine is already on. Throwing the truck into gear, she peels out, gravel and dirt flying from beneath the back tires. Her heart is pounding, her hands shaking, certain that at any moment she'll wake up.


	17. Losing Faith

Thank you so much for all of your feedback. Updates are on Saturdays for the time being.

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><p><em>But one loses faith in everything after this.<em>

_Howard's End_

**sixteen**

The world seems a dream, all darkness and ghostly looming evergreens, specters in the black of night…unrelieved but for the eerie glow of her own headlights, and the occasional flash of other cars zipping by. The too swift passings, white lights snaking through the gloom, is so similar to the impossible movements of Edward, Alice, and the strange man, that she is certain she imagined it all—she's suffered some break with reality, some psychosis brought on by her impossible feelings for her client, and is now hallucinating.

Despite these self-assurances, she is still gulping for air when she reaches her father's house, unable to release the steering wheel out of some strange fear that if she leaves the car, disobeying Edward's order, she will somehow be unsafe again. She lifts her gaze from her trembling hands, slowly registering that the quiet street is unchanged, dark and deeply wooded, the sporadic glow of a lit window here and there indicating a distant neighbor still awake. "A dream," she whispers, struggling for calm, desperate for her pulse to slow.

Bella finally manages to release the wheel, grabbing her backpack with a shaking hand—before she nearly falls from the cab, tangled in the strap of her seat belt in her distraction. She barely catches herself against the door…and abruptly stops breathing as she sees that there is no possible way she's dreaming.

The steel beneath the driver's side window is misshapen, bent, crumpled inward…and there is no mistaking the imprint of a hand at the very center of the hollow. Her fingers drift to the metal, trembling with the dawning knowledge that she has very good reason to be afraid, that her mind could not have created such a thing. The outline is far bigger than her own small hand, the crack in the glass arcing up from the very center of the impression.

A faint cry emerges from her lips before she is running for the stairs, ducking into the house, the door slamming with great force behind her. From the exterior, it briefly appears as if the house is possessed; the lights gradually flick on, a dull illumination shining from the living room window, and then at the rear in the kitchen, before ascending to the second floor where yellow abruptly glows from behind the front bedroom curtains. Then, seconds later, all of the lights begin to flicker off, the house going dark.

Inside, Bella is shaking, eyes wide and frightened, the small of her back damp with sweat as she stands beneath the arch that divides the kitchen from the living room. She can't decide if she should give the appearance that she's home, awake, alert, waiting…or if it's best to look as if she's long gone, the house empty and of no interest. Then, remembering, her head shoots up.

Her feet fly, running across the now dark living room to the stairs, nearly slipping as she clatters up the steps. She has not opened this door in six months, not since she'd brought Charlie's belongings home from the station, a cardboard box swiftly shoved in his closet as she realized she didn't have the strength to begin packing up his things.

Bella flings open the door, flurries of dust scattering with the gust of air that accompanies her entrance, visible in the weak light that fingers through the threadbare curtains. Ignoring the lonely furnishings, the narrow bed with its ancient quilt, the night stand with its single utilitarian lamp, she lunges to the closet, pushing aside the folding doors with determined hands. There, beneath the neatly hanging flannel shirts and jeans, next to the box overflowing with the mug, fake potted plant, and notebooks from Charlie's desk at the station, is the metal case, dully glowing in the darkness.

Her hands are steady as she grabs it, places it on the bed and snaps open the locks with nimble fingers. She pulls the rifle from the padded interior, checks the safety, then opens the chamber. Seeing it's loaded, she exhales, suddenly grateful for the gun safety courses Charlie had made her take when she was a teenager. A distant creak sends her flinching, the rifle swinging up in her arms, the butt against her shoulder, shakily pointed at the open bedroom door. She waits, trembling, uncertain if she could ever pull the trigger, wondering, given what she saw, the imprint on the door of her truck…would it even do anything?

Seconds turn into minutes and still she waits, tensed, palms growing damp, certain the moment she relaxes a figure will appear in the gloom of the open doorway. Finally, near hysterics, she lunges to the door, slamming it closed, before diving into the closet and jerking the folding doors shut, trembling as she muffles her tears against her coat sleeve.

Bella does not move from this position, knees drawn to her chest, wedged next to the box of her father's things, the rifle cradled in her arms. The cuffs of shirts, frayed and faintly smelling of detergent, just reach her hair, stirring the locks when she cautiously shifts, attempting to keep her feet from falling asleep. She suppresses a hysterical laugh at the thought of jumping up to flee only to fall flat on her face as her tingling feet refuse to function.

Could she run? Would there be any escape from a creature who can move so fast—too fast to see? Her eyes sink shut as she recalls the strange man, growling and twisting on the gravel, struggling to get to her truck. How can such a thing be possible? Perhaps she has lost her mind. Perhaps the dent was an illusion, a feverish dream brought on by a mind too taxed with stress, with loneliness, with the impossibility of her desires. Tears fill Bella's eyes again and she presses her lips to her wrist, worried she'll be heard. Does it even matter? Whether she is sane or crazy, the outcome is the same: she is sitting in the dark, in her father's closet, cradling a rifle to her chest, waiting for she knows not what.

Bella stares down at the gun, her hands trembling around the stock, wondering if she could bring herself to place the muzzle in her mouth. Would it be a relief? To be done with it all? To feel nothing? She lowers her forehead to the barrel, the metal cool against her skin, too weary to think any longer.

It will take her several seconds to realize what drew her attention, what, about the darkened closet, altered enough to make her lift her head, muscles rigid in an attempt to be still, listening to the silence beyond the doors.

Only later, when she has crept from the closet, will she realize that the curtains have been fully pushed aside, revealing streaked window panes and the gray light of dawn. In this moment, at the peak of night, they only let in a faint light, distant street lamps and a cloud-covered moon—but it is enough to brighten the crack where the closet door does not quite meet the floorboards. There is no other indicator of his entrance, the room silent as death.

But Bella knows he's there. What's worse, she knows he's only in this room—a room she hasn't entered in the six months she's lived in Charlie's house—because he's equally certain of her presence. "I have a gun!" she calls out, her voice loud with bravado and shaking with fear at the same time.

She stares into the darkness, waiting. Finally, Edward speaks. "I won't hurt you."

Bella shakes her head wildly, her heart pounding against her ribs. She thinks about clicking back the safety but is suddenly certain the gun will do no good. "What are you?" she cries out, the words a plea as her mind fills with the image of the handprint outlined in steel, the impossible blur of figures in the glow of her headlights, the strange man flying back into the trees.

"I promise—I won't hurt you." Edward's voice is almost equally desperate, low, willing her to understand.

"Is this a dream? Are you real?" The questions are almost for Bella as much as they are for him, her hands shaking around the stock of the rifle, fingernails digging into polished wood. Filled with adrenaline, heart racing, her mind begins to reach back. For it more than this night, this impossible circumstance, that has brought her here. She thinks of his pallor, too pale, skin too cool. She thinks of her own fingers, barely brushing his palm as he returns her pen, fetched from the air, invisible to her eyes. She thinks of waking in his arms on the courthouse steps. "What are you?" her voice is a hysterical shriek, eyes wild as she stares into the darkness.

Beyond the door, framed in the pale glow of the open bedroom window, Edward's shoulders slump with defeat. He can no longer lift his gaze from the floor, knowing now that she will not emerge from her hiding place in the closet, that she will not come to him. "I promise," he says again, the words a vow. "I will never hurt you."

But it is no reassurance to Bella. Her back is slick with sweat, her throat closing as she realizes he keeps saying these words because she _should _be scared, that in any other circumstance she should fear him hurting her.

"Get out!" she cries instinctively, sobs shaking from her chest. She thinks of the fawn, unmoving, throat laid bare, and her heart pounds impossibly faster, ricocheting in her chest. "Get out!" she cries again.

There is a whisper of movement, feet against floorboards, and she braces herself, certain he's going to drag her from her ridiculous hiding spot. She remains this way for several seconds, not breathing…before she realizes he's done as she asked—he's gone.

Bella is overcome, unsure whether to be relieved or terrified, shaking with sobs as she slumps over the rifle, huddled against the floor.

She stirs with a sneeze, then groans as she realizes she's fallen asleep at an awkward angle, neck bent against the floorboards of her father's closet. The events of the night rush back and Bella jerks upright, then curses under her breath as her head is enveloped in the flannel shirts hanging above. Batting the garments back, she shoves open the closet door, not quite ready to accept that what happened was real, that she didn't conjure the entire thing from the air. She pauses after rising to her feet, noting the curtains pushed aside, the window exposing the pale light of dawn. Before she can hesitate, she reaches back into the closet, bending to retrieve the rifle, and carries it down the stairs to the front door.

But the lock is untouched. She stares down at it in confusion, then drags a hand over her face, unable to make sense of it all. A sudden knock sends her stumbling back, nearly dropping the gun as she lets out a startled shriek.

"Bella! Are you okay?" Bella blinks hard, shaking her head. Of course Edward wouldn't knock—he certainly hadn't the night before.

Bella leans the gun against the wall, just out of sight, before flipping back the deadbolt and peering through the crack. "Of course I am, Jake. What are you doing here?"

His expression shifts from relief to concern, his gaze raking her face. Too late, Bella realizes she must look a mess, hair a tangled halo, face pale with lack of sleep and food, her eyes likely bloodshot from crying. "What's happened?"

Bella drops her gaze, staring down at her feet for several seconds before she takes a deep breath. She opens the door wider, uncaring of her rumpled clothes, rain coat streaked with dust from the floor of her father's closet. Lifting her eyes to Jake's tanned face, she does her best to look firm and demanding. "Are you ready to tell me what you know?"

Jake takes a surprised step back before his brows lower over black eyes. He lifts his arms, crossing them defensively over his broad chest. "What do you mean?"

Bella sighs and peers up at him. "I'm assuming you're not here at the crack of dawn to bring me my newspaper," her voice is wry, too tired to negotiate, too drained to be anything other than truthful. "You—and Harry and the others—know something."

"Was he here?" Jake asks, a note of outrage entering his voice. His hands shift to his sides, curling into fists. Bella is reminded of how tall he is, looming over her, muscles prominent on his large arms.

Shaking her head, Bella struggles to focus. "Isn't that why you're here, Jake?" She suddenly realizes she simply doesn't have the energy to do this and leans back as if she's going to shut the door. "Let me know when you want to talk."

Jake's hand is suddenly braced against the door, a steel beam preventing her from closing it. His lips move but no words emerge, as if he's struggling to think of what to say. Finally, he blurts out roughly, "We've been watching the house—trying to keep an eye on you."

Bella stares at him in shock, then shakes her head, wondering. Does he know what he's up against—the impossible swiftness, the strength? Could the tribe really protect her? But she knows she will only put him on the defensive with such questions and instead asks, "Are you going to tell me why, Jake?"

It's almost as if he pretends not to hear her. "Only…Embry fell asleep last night," his gaze falls to the warped slats of the porch with this gruff admission, embarrassed. "And when I came to relieve him, he let me know he'd fucked up royally—the bloodsucker's scent was all over the place."

Scent. Bella's eyes widen, remembering the day of the bonfire at First Beach—was it really only last Saturday? Jake continues, his voice full of disbelief, "But you're okay."

"Of course I'm okay," she snaps, temper flaring with the frustration of not knowing why that is. Why didn't Edward drag her from the closet? Why is she in one piece, arguing with Jake on her front porch at the crack of dawn? Inhaling, she glowers up at Jake, hoping to seem intimidating. "But I'm not going to be okay for long if you guys keep me in the dark." She folds her arms over her chest. "I'm going to ask you one more time, and then I'm going to ask that you leave. You know something. Tell me what it is."

Jake's gaze is piercing, unwavering as he meets her stare. He lifts his chin. "First, you tell me—did you see him last night?"

Bella refuses to look away, squaring her shoulders as she mutinously answers, "Yes."

"Goddamnit!" Jake exclaims, his gaze angrily darting around the porch as he shakes his dark head. "I just don't understand! They've never before—" His tone is bemused as the words cut off, hands falling to his sides before he uneasily shoves them in the pockets of his jeans. His black eyes curiously rake her face one more time. "How are you okay?"

"Why don't you tell me, Jake?" The words are almost shrill, brown eyes blazing as she glares at him. She is weary of his stalling; she had answered his question and now expects answers in return.

Jake's expression shifts, his features utterly serious, dark eyes frank as they fix on her face—as if he is trusting her with some great confidence. His voice is flat and matter of fact when he speaks. "They're vampires."

Bella stares at him a moment, uncertain she'd heard him correctly, before she chokes on a bitter laugh. "Come off it, Jake." She runs a hand through the tangle of her hair, inhaling to try and tamp down her exasperation. "Why don't you just tell me what the deal is?"

Jake's expression doesn't shift, features stony as he answers. "That's it, Bella. That's what the deal is. They're vampires. Bloodsuckers. Parasites."

Bella's pale features draw into a frown, her mind refusing to make sense of the words he's saying, unable to believe he isn't messing with her, prevaricating to avoid telling her the real truth. "There's no such thing, Jake," she tries to laugh again, the sound hollow.

He simply stares at her, his expression unchanging, gaze direct. It's clear he's not joking—he believes what he's saying. Bella's frown deepens, lips parting to deny his claim, to deny the ridiculousness of such a thing—before her eyes grow wide, breath catching in her throat as her gaze drifts to her truck. The driver's side window is visible through the windshield, the crack like a lightning bolt, contradicting her denial; though the door isn't visible from the porch, she knows that beneath it is a handprint in steel, impossible yet real.

She thinks of Edward's pallor, such a stark contrast to his unnaturally dark eyes. She recalls the cool touch of his hands—and the icy grasp of his foster mother and father, reluctant to shake her hand, initially standing in such a way that such a gesture wouldn't be possible. Her eyes are blind, filled with the darting figures she'd seen the night before, impossibly fast, inhuman in their movements. Her face drains of all color as an exchange from their very first meeting echoes in her head.

"_Do you ever think about hurting yourself?"_

"_I can't."_

"Oh, no," she whispers as her eyes regain focus. Jake still stands before her, lips thin, his tanned features grim.

"You should come back to the reservation." The words are firm, a command and not a suggestion.

Bella shakes her head, unable to understand how this is a solution. She finally raises the issue she'd been reluctant to touch on earlier. "Why would I be any safer there?"

Jake's features twist, black eyes sliding away. "There's a treaty."

Bella is perplexed. "A treaty?"

Jake sighs and she can't tell if he's impatient with her need for explanations, or if he's reluctant to reveal even more than he already has. "We agree not to give them away—to you all," he gestures at Bella and she can't help frowning at the thought that though he's willing to offer her protection, she is still an outsider to him.

"And in exchange for that?" she asks.

"They don't come on our land, and," his voice drops to a near mutter. "They don't harm any humans."

Bella is trying to make sense of what's he's saying but she has yet to fully grasp that she isn't dreaming, that this moment is real. Her eyes drift to her truck again, as if expecting the crack to have disappeared—but it is still there, a jagged line in glass, evidence of the night before.

"But you should come anyways," Jake is still talking, trying to convince her.

"No," Bella hears herself speak, the word faint. She turns her gaze to Jake, her expression hardening as she repeats herself more firmly. "No." Her head shakes once. "You said yourself—he didn't harm me. He's had his chance. He's had," she shakes her head again. "so many chances. Why would he hurt me now?"

"You don't know what you're saying," Jake glowers, black eyes growing stormy. "You're in danger."

"No, I'm not," she scoffs. As she speaks the words, she realizes she believes them—that she isn't simply saying it to defy Jake, to be contrary. Edward had promised he wouldn't hurt her—and somehow…she trusts him. Her mind races, a plan only half-formed as she tries to think ahead, barely admitted to herself…but it will not work if members of the tribe or lurking around outside. "I'd appreciate it," she stares up at Jake, brown eyes steady, "if you guys would quit watching my house. I'll be honest—it creeps me the hell out, it isn't necessary, and I will totally call the station and tell them I think I have a stalker if you guys don't stop."

Jake sputters, staring at her in shock. "We're trying to protect you!"

"How so, Jake?" Bella asks, lifting a hand to her hip. "By falling asleep outside of my house?" She knows this will be the final blow, that she is staking her loyalties with these words…but she can't see how she has ever been one of them, how they have ever treated her as anything but Charlie's awkward daughter grudgingly invited along.

To her surprise, a faint flush stains Jake's high cheekbones, black eyes embarrassed as he looks away. "You said yourself there's a treaty—they can't harm anyone." The statement is falsely confident but Bella lifts her chin, refusing to back down. "Besides, I can look after myself," she adds.

She lifts a hand to close the door and Jake does not raise his arm to stop her this time. She slowly shuts it and turns, her mind already drifting to the shower she desperately needs. Then, thinking twice, Bella calls through the wood panels, "I meant it about the police, Jake!"

She can hear him muttering as he stomps down the porch steps, and is relieved to hear the engine of his Volkswagen backfire as he starts up the car.

It is only when she is beneath the hot spray of the shower that her mind drifts back to Jake's claims, internally wrestling with what she's learned. She can't even mentally repeat the word he'd uttered in her head much less say it out loud, lips twisting with renewed disbelief. But is there any other explanation? Her gaze is fixed on the plain white tiles as the stall fills with steam, tracing a crack beneath the shower head with intent focus. She thinks of superheroes, leaping from buildings, impossibly strong. She remembers urban legends, tales of mothers so filled with adrenaline, they're able to perform staggering feats to save a child. Her eyes trace the crack again and again, her mind stretching for another explanation—anything to make sense of everything she's seen. She had always known he was not normal. Now she is also starting to realize he's not human.

Bella shuts of the water, numbly toweling her hair as she crosses the landing to her bedroom. She is still tired and sore from sleeping on the floor of her father's closet, but there is nothing about the narrow bed that tempts her. Quickly, she dresses, pulling on a pair of sweats and a long sleeved thermal. Glancing at the bedside clock, she sees it is nearly eight and bounces down the stairs, gaze searching for the backpack she'd flung aside in her panic last night. She finds it beneath the end table and retrieves her cell phone. Before she can think twice, she dials the health center. She is relieved when Maria picks up, obviously having arrived a few minutes early.

"Maria, I'm going to be out sick today." She pauses. "Yeah, I haven't been feeling well. Just…tired," she admits. "Can you do me a favor?" Bella bites her lip, her heart rate increasing as she struggles to keep her voice steady. "Can you give me the number for that client I see for Janet?" She holds her breath, worried the taciturn receptionist will balk. Then, slowly, she exhales with relief. "Yeah, Edward Cullen, that's right." She forces a smile, knowing the receptionist will be able to hear it over the line. "Great, thanks so much. Yeah, I'll get some rest." She pauses again. "Thank you."


	18. Music & Life Mingle

Thank you so much for all of your reviews, and recommending this elsewhere.

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><p><em>Does it seem reasonable that she should play so wonderfully, and live so quietly? I suspect that one day she will be wonderful in both. The water-tight compartments in her will break down, and music and life will mingle. Then we shall have her heroically good, heroically bad-too heroic, perhaps, to be either good or bad.<em>

_A Room with a View_

**seventeen**

Bella holds the seven numbers in her head, lip caught between her teeth, brown eyes distant as she gazes into space. The room seems utterly different by the light of day, familiar and dull, plaid pillows scattered on the couch, faded photos framed on the walls. Her fears of the night before feel unfounded, perhaps even an overreaction. Had he ever hurt her? Had she ever felt unsafe in his presence? She pushes aside, for the moment, Jake's claims, focusing instead on what she knows to be true, what she's seen. Last night had been all confusion—but Edward had not harmed her. In fact, he had urged her to get away. But why had he railed at her on the porch, his words so cruel?

Bella's eyes sink shut. She knows she could likely still leave this place, run away, start over—that, despite what she'd seen in the woods outside the Cullens' home, he will not harm her…he will leave her be. She could begin a new life in Phoenix, convince herself this was a dream as she'd hoped and believed last night. She could put all of this behind her.

But she wants to understand. She wants learn the truth. And, what's more…what she'd said to him the day he'd missed his appointment is still true. He is important to her.

With that, Bella decides to call. But first…her gaze rises to the window, scanning the quiet street beyond the glass suspiciously; while she's relatively sure Jake has done as she asked, she is reluctant to be seen so obviously making an attempt to get in touch with someone he sees as an enemy.

Quickly, she pads up the stairs to her bedroom, shutting the door behind her before perching on the edge of the mattress. She dials the number and lifts the phone to her ear, sucking in a breath as it begins to ring.

But she expects it to be the hospital—or Carlisle's pager…anything other than the familiar low voice that suddenly sounds through the line, stating she can leave a voice mail for Edward Cullen. Bella stabs a shaking finger at the phone, abruptly ending the call. Her heart is racing and she feels utterly, totally ridiculous. She didn't know what she'd been planning—that Carlisle might explain some version of events that she could absorb? That she trusted Edward's foster father more than the clearly prejudiced members of the tribe? She rubs her eyes, realizing she needs to think before she acts again.

Bella forces herself to breathe evenly as she stares down at the phone. She knows it isn't wise to simply show up at the Cullens' house—not given what had happened last night. But now that she knows it's Edward's number—not his father's or the hospital—she is suddenly self-conscious, palms damp with anxiety. She contemplates calling again but feels idiotic, berating herself for hanging up without leaving a message. Finally, feeling no options are left to her, she opens up the messaging function on her phone and swiftly types a text.

_Can we meet? –Bella_

Before she can overthink it, she hits the send key. "What am I, a teenager?" she mutters—then nearly drops the phone as it vibrates in her hand with a newly received text.

_It's not safe here._

Her lip is caught between her teeth, eyes wide as she stares down at the small screen, reading the words again and again. She cannot tell…is this a rejection? Is he telling her 'no,' that it is not possible to meet? Pink stains her cheeks, feeling again like an insecure teenager, interpreting his texts as if they're tea leaves.

Lifting her chin, struggling for resolve, she texts back:

_How can I see you?_

Several seconds pass, breath caught in her lungs, as she stares at the screen waiting for his answer. The first return message had been so swift, almost as if he'd been eager to reply, that she can't quite believe he wouldn't respond as quickly. Soon, the clock on the screen indicates a full minute has passed and she exhales loudly, fighting back sudden tears. Perhaps she'd been mistaken. Perhaps he'd meant the snide words he'd said the night before. Perhaps she had misunderstood all of the allusions he'd made during their sessions, mistaking his curiosity, probing about her, for a true interest in her—perhaps she is not as important to him as he is to her.

"Bella?"

She chokes on a shriek, jumping from the mattress and spinning on her heel to face the single window, a hand at her throat. "Edward!" she cries, his name one of shock and barely restrained anger—why did he have to surprise her so? Then she realizes, staring at the lithe youth framed in her bedroom window, that he is no longer hiding, he is no longer concealing what he is.

"Edward," she breathes his name again, her hand falling as her brown eyes widen, slowly drinking in his figure. She is looking for the difference, the alteration, some subtle characteristic that will suddenly seem apparent with her newfound knowledge. But he is unchanged. He is, as always, pale and handsome, his red-tinged hair perhaps slightly messier than usual. He does not move from his position directly inside the window and she sees it is open, sheer panels on either side drifting around him in the slight breeze. His features are tensed, cautious, golden eyes wary as he returns her stare.

"You're the same," Bella's voice is faint, disbelieving.

Edward's brows draw together, a dart of confusion crossing his gaze. "What do you mean?"

Bella's head tilts, her voice still soft. "I thought…you'd look different somehow. Changed." A sigh that is a mix of laughter and exasperation escapes her lips as she shakes her head. "Despite the fact that you somehow just came through my bedroom window…you are the same."

A multitude of emotions pass over Edward's features, like the shadows of clouds passing over a landscape; his pale forehead furrows then smoothes, amber eyes narrowing with disbelief and worry, lips twisting as he absorbs what she's said and struggles to think of a reply. Finally, he roughly states, "I _am_ different."

Bella shakes her head again, staring at him calmly. "But I always knew that. I just didn't know how much."

Edward's posture finally shifts, shoulders sagging as he stares at her with wonder. "You don't know what you're saying."

Bella sighs, suddenly very tired of being told she doesn't know anything. She knows some things. And she has questions. "Tell me," she begins, brown eyes determined, "who was that at your house last night? Is he…like you?"

He tenses again, one pale hand lifting to his hair to roughly drag through the messy waves. "Yes…and no."

Bella exhales, partly relieved that he isn't stonewalling as Jake had done earlier, and partly anxious at learning that what she had guessed is true. Edward begins pacing before the open window, the sheer panels dancing with each pass of his long limbs; his hands drift through his hair, dig in his pockets, and fidget restlessly at his sides. He is struggling for the words and she waits, as she has done so many times before, giving him the space to decide what to tell her.

When he speaks, she realizes she could not have begun to guess what he would share. "Alice sees things."

A line forms between Bella's brows, eyes briefly narrowing with confusion. "What do you mean?"

Edward's gaze darts to hers as he continues to pace, golden gaze ever wary. "She has precognition."

Bella's lips part, eyes wide, staring at him with wonder. Her mind is suddenly filled with a an image, a memory, vividly painted. She sees the dense woods behind this house, rain steadily dripping from the murky gray sky, a ceaseless patter weighing down the boughs above, turning the ground beneath her feet to slick mud.

_Do you ever have this…idea of what your future will be?_

Edward does not go on until he hears her heartbeat slow, wary of shocking her any further than he already has. "But…" his voice is a mixture of wryness and weariness, watching her features as he speaks. "It's unreliable. Things shift. Nothing is set in stone."

Bella listens, silent, pressing her lips together, her mind a flurry of the things Alice has said and done, the girl's bright voice like a bell in her head. She remembers the Cullens' library, the high ceilings above, books circling around, rich carpets beneath her feet. She thinks of Alice's slim figure, dancing over to the shelves to pull another book free.

_I was just excited—I knew you'd like this room._

The stack of books waiting for her, already picked out.

_They changed their minds._

"Based on decisions?" Bella hears herself ask the question, eyes distant as Alice's words haunt her thoughts.

Edward inhales, surprised by her insightfulness. "Yes. Or…if someone is acting purely on instinct…failing to make decisions at all…"

"Then you have no idea what they'll do, how they'll act," Bella finishes.

Edward nods. "Her visions for decades have been of…a man. A stranger to her—to all of us." He begins pacing again, struggling to push aside his astonishment that her heart continues to beat slowly, steadily. Her calm now that she knows is somehow almost more alarming than her hysteria the night before.

"But he was acting based on instinct?" Bella asks, a faint frown crossing her brow as she tries to absorb what he's telling her.

"Yes." Edward continues pacing, glowering down at the floor boards as he tries to explain, tries to find the words that don't make him sound utterly insane, that capture the reality of his life for her. "Sometimes she would recognize where he was, get a sense…from her visions, of where he would next be. But every time she'd try to seek him out, to find him…he would fail to appear."

Edward stops short as he hears her heart suddenly stutter, lifting his head to find the oval of her face drained to a ghostly white, brown eyes wide as she stares at him with open-mouthed shock. "Bella?" Her hands are shaking as they jerk up, covering her mouth. Her gaze grows impossibly wider as the trembling shifts to her entire body. "Bella, what's wrong?" Every muscle in his body is rigid, fighting the urge to go to her side, to reassure her. He is uncertain what his nearness to her would do, if he would only make it worse.

Her fingers part, four words finally choking through her lips. "Did y-you say…decades?"

Edward frowns, unable to understand why this would alarm her so. "Yes," he says shortly. His next statement is slower, knowing he is touching on the truth of what he is—what they all are. "Since the time she was changed."

Bella's hands drag up her face, sliding into her still damp hair as she stutters. "W-when was that?"

Edward's eyes flash, suddenly realizing why she is reacting as she is. It might almost be comical that this is what is overwhelming her—not the truth of what he is, nor Alice's freakish ability. "Nineteen twenty," he answers slowly, reluctant to shock her further.

Bella's knees weaken, her voice the faintest whisper when she asks, "And y-you knew her then?"

Edward tells himself that if she looks as if she's going to faint, he cannot remain where he is, he cannot let her fall to the floor. "I did."

Bella can hear the tears in her voice and drags her hands from her hair to her eyes, pressing her palms to her cheekbones. "How old are you?"

Edward's voice is calm. "Seventeen."

Bella cannot take her hands from her eyes, her voice barely audible as she asks, "How long have you been seventeen?"

He hesitates—but he realizes he has come this far. "Since before the turn of the last century."

The noise that emerges from her lips is a mix between a gasp and a cry, her knees wobbling as she sways, unable to breathe. Edward is across the room in an instant, strong hands firm around her upper arms, keeping her upright. Bella collapses into him, drawn, weak, her own hands fisting in his tee shirt as she buries her face in his chest. "Edward," she sobs.

He is not strong enough to resist comforting her, scooping her up into his arms and rounding the bed to the rocking chair in the corner. She does not protest or resist, arms curled around his neck as she cries into his chest. He soothes tendrils of hair from her face, murmuring vague words of reassurance into the locks at her crown. "It's okay. I promise…it's okay." He knows the words are nonsense, that he has no sense of the future, no idea if what he says is true. Perhaps, seconds from now, she will leap away from him, appalled and disgusted, demanding he leave now that her questions are answered.

Miraculously, she does not grow tense as her pulse slows. Edward stills when she pulls one of her hands from around his neck to wipe at the tears still damp on her cheeks, forcing his own arms to relax, to keep from appearing as if he holding her in place—but her fingers are soon curling over his shoulder again, anchoring her slim figure to him. Though he knows it's selfish, he begins speaking again, hoping to distract her from recalling where she is, who she's cradled against, desperate for this moment to last.

"The house was empty last night. My family knew you were coming and wanted to give me—us—privacy." His voice is low, soothing against her hair. "Alice was not far—in town." He inhales, barely able to contemplate what might have been. "She saw him near—in the woods of the park. But instead of it being a moment of relief, of finally finding him—" Edward's arms tighten unconsciously around Bella's slight frame, uncertain what he would have done had Alice's original vision come true. "In any scenario where you were not in your truck, you didn't survive."

Impossibly, Bella's hands tighten around his neck, her breath catching in her chest. When she speaks, her voice is tinged with fright. "Scenario?"

Edward exhales, trying to think how to explain. "Alice will make a plan, a decision, trying to change what she sees. She had already decided to call me, to tell me to pull you inside the house—and in doing so, she changed the future."

Bella sucks in a breath, unable to imagine such power…such responsibility. "But that didn't stop him from…" Her voice trails away, unable to voice what might have happened.

"It just moved the fight inside," Edward explains, his voice rough. "To such close quarters that I couldn't keep him away from you—that either you died…or I destroyed him."

"And Alice has been waiting so long," Bella's voice is now tinged with sadness and he marvels at her ability to have sympathy for his sister, or for the stranger Alice had not yet met. Edward's pale hand lifts, tentative, and falls to her hair, stroking the silky strands; it is not clear if he is comforting her…or himself.

"I had to get you back in your truck, back on the road—away from him." To his surprise, it is these words that send her rearing away from him, straightening in his lap to glare into his eyes.

"That's why you were so cruel to me? That's why you said such terrible things?"

Edward is at a loss, lips parted, realizing for the umpteenth time that she renders him distressingly helpless with such ease. "There was no other way," he finally replies, amber gaze level as he meets her outraged stare.

Bella's features slowly soften before her gaze falls. She is thinking—would she have listened had he told her she needed to get in her truck, that she needed to leave, that she was in danger? She closes her eyes, realizing that the last worryingly large number of times people have told her she is in danger, she has not listened. Bella knows she would have protested, would have asked questions, would have believed he was spinning tales to get her out of his hair. Slowly, she eases back into his chest, her hands curled in her lap.

"I thought—" Her voice falters. "You were so angry. I thought—you were pushing me away again, that I'd made a mistake."

Edward is silent, his body unmoving beneath her own. When he finally speaks, his voice is frustrated. "I _was_ angry." Bella stills, fearful of what he's going to say next. "I was angry that my life, what I am, was putting you in danger. That fate saw fit to finally give Alice her heart's desire, but only by risking your life. It was the ultimate irony, and I was furious."

Bella inhales, trying to understand. "But you weren't angry with me."

"No," his breath blows out against her hair. "But I had to convince you—and I used what I was already feeling to do that."

"You were too convincing," she weakly mutters, ashamed of the tears in her voice. It's partly relief—that of everything that had happened last night, the only thing that wasn't real was what he had said to her on the porch, so cruel and snide. But she also can't help feeling raw and uncertain, as if this moment, cradled in his arms, cannot last—that whether it's some sudden turn in his feelings or something entirely external, this peace cannot hold.

She feels his hand against her hair again, gently stroking. His voice is soft, "I'm a good liar, Bella. I have to be."

Her mind is filled with the image of him, weary and bitter, sitting on the courthouse steps.

"_I've never lied to you."_

"_Because I knew there would be no chance if I ever lied to you."_

At the time, she had thought he meant a chance that she would trust him, that he knew she could only have faith in him if he was honest with her. But perhaps he had also meant a chance for himself—that he needed one person he could be as much of himself with as possible. Her mind is filled with questions, curious about so much, wanting to understand him. She exhales against his shirt, her hand inching over his shoulder. "Tell me…" she quietly asks. "Tell me about you."


	19. Never Go Up

Thank you so much for your reviews. & special thanks to the Old One for keeping my tenses straight on this chapter.

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><p>"<em>You will never go up," said his father. "You and I, dear boy, will lie at peace in the earth that bore us, and our names will disappear as surely as our work survives." <em>

_A Room with a View_

**eighteen**

_Cuba 1898_

It was the smell that assaulted him first, the stench of carrion, flesh decomposing with the onset of death, mixed with the antiseptic smell of the surgery: sharp alcohol swabbed on open wounds and the faintest hint of chloroform, sickly sweet beneath the warm odors of rotting bodies. Edward lifted a hand to his face, instinctively trying to cover his nose, and was baffled at finding his limbs constrained. He opened his eyes and panic joined his confusion; had he been blinded? For his gaze was flooded with white, blinking rapidly in an attempt to clear his vision. His panic began to subside as he realized he was able to make out the fine weave of the fabric over his face, the weft and warp of individual fibers, a detailed grid before his fluttering gaze. He stilled a moment, thinking; then, rocking to his left and right, he slowly loosened the cotton cover, finally lifting his arms and pushing the fabric back.

Shock immediately froze him in place. It was not a blanket or sheet that covered him, nor some sort of bandage. No, it was a shroud.

His gaze darted around the tent and fresh panic roiled through his body as he realized it was not a surgery where he'd awoken, but a makeshift morgue. Bodies littered the floor, mostly covered in white sheets though some closer to the entrance were exposed, their wounds swarming with flies.

"Help…me…" The voice was faint but unmistakable, distracting Edward from his shock. He rose from his position on the packed dirt floor, brushing at his trousers and wondering that he had been laid in this place when his body showed no wounds, his uniform unmarred. "Please…help…"

His head rose, seeking the voice—there, along the far wall, a figure stirred beneath the shroud. He strained to hear the man speak again, then started as he realized the voice he had heard…was not coming from the man's mouth. _Please… _Edward shook his head and wondered if he was somehow in hell, if the heat and chaos of the battlefield have driven him mad. _Help…_He hurried across the tent, dodging the bodies laid along the floor on agile feet; even if he had gone mad, he couldn't leave a fellow soldier in need.

He reached the man's side and carefully pulled back the shroud covering his face. He recoiled as he saw the man was yellow with jaundice, flecks of black vomit encrusted in the corners of his mouth. Somehow, Edward could hear the sluggish beat of the man's heart without putting his ear to the man's chest. _Please_…The sluice of blood through struggling valves and chambers suddenly caused an itchy fire in Edward's throat, his hand involuntarily rising to the tight collar of his coat. He acted without thinking, sinking to the man's throat and crushing his jugular between suddenly fierce teeth.

When he reared away, horrified, the soldier's pleas were no more.

"Four hundred men died in battle. Thousands more died of malaria, yellow fever, dysentery, typhoid." Edward is silent a moment, knowing this is the truth that can push her away. "And I hastened that death for some of them."

But first he had fled, terrified, hoping beyond hope that it was all a nightmare, an awful illusion brought on by the turmoil and blazing heat of the dusty battlefield. The darkness of night embraced him, yet…every palm frond, tumbling vine, and tree trunk was visible to him. Despite the speed at which he ran, careening through the rich vegetation, he did not trip or stumble. And while he expected to be absolutely breathless, gasping for air, he only stopped out of panic, thinking adrenaline must be the only thing keeping him from collapsing.

It was more habit than need that had him bracing a hand against the slender trunk of a palm tree, gaze fixed on the ground, struggling to understand what had happened to him. He could recall his captain, lips curling disdainfully beneath his moustache as he dismissed the Spanish soldiers spied several hundred yards away over the rise. "The memories weren't clear then…and are no more clear now."

The dismissal had swiftly turned to tensed fury, orders barked over the whistle and crash of cannon fire, all confusion and chaos. The air was filled with grit, a haze of shadowy figures braced for the approaching line of soldiers. The last thing Edward clearly remembered was the roar of the captain's voice. "Hold your ground!"

Suddenly, the earth rushed close, his body thrown back by what he'd thought was a cannon blast. He'd lain stunned, his vision criss crossed with white, his head filled with fog. Before his sight could fully clear, the sun was dimmed as a figure loomed above him, a silhouette against the blazing sky. He'd screamed as the bayonet tore through his wrist.

Then…burning, fire in his veins, shooting up his arm and into his very heart, consuming him. Beneath the canopy of the jungle, Edward lifted his arm, yanking at the sleeve of his coat—but the skin at his wrist was unmarred, ghostly pale beneath the faint moonlight.

Uncertain of what had become of him, uncertain whether he was not caught in some interminable nightmare, Edward had lingered among the palms and jacarandas of the jungle. "It was only…what I thought was hunger that drove me back to the camp."

As he had neared the encampment, endeavoring to conceal his approach by moving as quietly as possible, his head had filled with a cacophony of voices…but they were too personal, too private, to be conversations. He had lifted his hands to his ears, certain now that he had gone mad—when the fire that had overtaken his throat in the makeshift morgue once before returned. "I began to…reason, to tell myself…I was only seeking out the morgue again because…"

Bella's voice is very quiet. "Because the alternative was unbearable."

He had skirted the camp, keeping several hundred yards between himself and the tents where he knew his fellow soldiers ate and slept and trained, uncertain he could control himself if he drew any nearer. Finally, scenting the decay of flesh not yet buried, he had bolted towards the tent he had fled several days before. "But the physicians had not made any errors—as they had made with me and my first victim."

It had taken all of his self-control to keep from tearing the tent down around his ears, the burning in his throat reaching unbearable proportions. Only the sound of approaching feet had alerted him that someone was drawing near, his head filling with the sound of what he had rapidly begun to suspect was not a voice…but a thought. _Four more cases of yellow fever today alone…and two of the cases diagnosed yesterday are even now rapidly declining…_

Fearing discovery, Edward had swiftly dropped to the ground and closed his eyes, sucking in one last lungful of air before holding his breath. To his shock, he quickly noted that the burning in his throat subsided if he could no longer smell what he could no longer deny was the tempting scent of blood. Relieved by this discovery, he had nearly started at the warmth of fingers on his wrist, a surprised voice echoing through his head. _I don't recall sending this soldier over…perhaps Banner had one of the casualties moved from the surgery._ Sadness tinged the thoughts as the physician gently placed Edward's arm back at his side. _So young…such a pity._

He was too distracted by the discovery that he could maintain some semblance of control through holding his breath, and by learning the location of the surgery through the physician's thoughts, to note that the man had felt no pulse—that he had believed Edward dead. He waited only long enough to assure the doctor was gone before rising and seeking out the surgery—again circling far enough away to assure he wouldn't be seen, then ducking and skulking between the tents that made up the encampment, the thoughts around him a barrage of words and worries and noise.

He briefly wondered how he was able to hold his breath for so long, but was too filled with relief by the reprieve it provided to question this new ability. After all, it allowed him the patience to wait for the surgery tent to empty, biding his time until the harried thoughts of the physicians and their assistants drifted away, lost amid the cacophony of soldiers streaming to the mess tent.

Upon ducking into the surgery, Edward was focused and intent, listening to the faint beat of struggling, weakened hearts, the slosh of lungs slowly filling with fluid. He allowed the smallest whiff of air to hit his nostrils, and could scarcely believe the growl that escaped his throat in response. He whipped around, seeking the weakest of the weak among the damp faces laying prone on cots, unresponsive when one man stretched out a bony hand, begging for water.

There was a boy, pale and still, near the far wall. Edward slowly approached him as he wondered if the physicians deliberately placed the patients in such a way, keeping the sickest farthest from those who might recover—and closest to the exit should they need to be moved to the makeshift morgue. The soldier's cheeks were faintly dusted with freckles; he was likely no older than Edward. Perhaps he had lied, too, to join the forces, eager to do his part. Edward could hear the slowing thud of his heart, the intense heat coming off his skin with fever. Then he tried not to think, inhaling deeply to allow the burn in his throat to take over, to be led by instinct rather than reason.

"You asked if I was real. A similar thought occurred to me; perhaps I was a ghost. Perhaps I had died and this was my hell."

But he could not embrace his role as Grim Reaper, bearer of death. He continued to lurk in the jungle, too uncertain of what his fellow soldiers' reactions might be to their resurrected comrade. He also could not bring himself to stray far from the one familiar thing he knew, sometimes leaning against the trunk of a tree at a safe distance from the camp, listening to the chatter of voices and thoughts, oddly comforted by the concerns and worries that had once filled his own head such a short time ago.

And more importantly, he could not part from the source of his sustenance.

Any time he recalled the pity of the doctor who had checked for his pulse, or thought on his strange new ability to refrain from inhaling for hours at a time, or wondered at the things he should not be able to hear—yet could—he would feel panic rising within. "I told myself I was dreaming, or feverish in a hospital bed…or dead. Anything was better than being a murderer."

But in his nightly eavesdropping, crouched near the back flaps of the mess hall tent, he heard the news that the war was over. "It forced me to see—that I wasn't in some limbo, condemned to act as some awful variation of death manifest. I realized if I was ever going to get home, I had to act."

He had managed to stow away on one of the ships returning soldiers to Tampa, shivering as he lay crouched in the hold, throat burning with thirst, but unwilling to strike anyone not already close to death. "I managed to control myself by holding my breath and avoiding people, by only going out at the dead of night—no human contact." There had been one close call in a train yard in Nashville; he had not realized until it was too late that there was someone nearby, passing just beyond the doors of the rail car where he was stowing away, likely a conductor given the scent of coal mixed with the rich aroma of blood. Only later would Edward realize the slats beneath him had splintered with the pressure of his fingers as he forced himself to stay put. "When I arrived in Chicago, I was...near mad with it. Maybe it was this madness, or even my desperation to return, that led me to think I could somehow go home again." If only so the last memory his family had of him wasn't a foolish boy running away to war, exclaiming with jingoistic mindlessness, "Remember the Maine!"

He refused to act the thief with his mother and father; though he had broken into ship holds and rail cars to get home, he would not break into their house. He had wrapped himself in a muffler, a soft cap pulled low over his brows, lingering on the corner, trembling whenever anyone came too near. At this point, given how long he had gone without feeding, holding his breath no longer provided the reprieve it once had; even the warmth of passing bodies was a struggle to resist.

Movement at the gate of the house where he was born was the only thing that could distract him from the torment of his thirst. A figure he knew to be his mother was standing before the wrought iron fence, pausing as her gloved hands fussed with the tie of her wide brimmed hat before falling to the waist-high latch. Her green eyes flashed past him as she turned to speak to the kitchen maid accompanying her to the market; it was his undoing. He sucked in a breath at the sight, then immediately stumbled back as the fragrance of blood saturated his palate, his tongue, triggering a rush of saliva to his mouth and a raging burn in his throat.

Somewhere, beneath the red haze that had descended over his eyes, he smelled the faint scent of the rose water his mother always dabbed beneath her ears, faint but true. It was the only thing that could remind him of his humanity in that moment, struggling to keep from lunging at the nearest person and satisfying this monstrous need. He had turned on his heel and fled, diving down an alley, seeking only to escape the press of people, of warm bodies and rich blood, of temptation.

It was then that he knew he could never go home again.

"I began to resign myself to what I had become. I experimented…with sunlight, with mirrors, with crucifixes…but none of the mythology came to bear as I thought it would, as the books and legends said. But there were other things—"

The words are faint, Bella's brown eyes squeezing shut as she recalls the previous night. "Your strength."

She feels Edward nod above her head. "And speed without tiring. Holding my breath for hours at a time did not affect me." He hesitates and she waits, patient, allowing him to form the words. "I passed from town to town, existing on the fringes of communities large enough to warrant a hospital but not so large that I would suffer the press of people, the noise…" His gaze loses focus, pale hands still, as he remembers. "Years passed and I saw I was not aging, not changing. I despaired, realizing this was one element of the lore that was true." He pauses, uncertain he should share the level of his despondency with her. Then, inhaling, he forges ahead, knowing it is too late to withhold now. "I…experimented in other ways. I submerged myself in Devil's Lake." His short laugh is a harsh, self-mocking sound, his gaze dark as he recalls that long winter in North Dakota. "But days later, I accepted that the water could not harm me. I jumped from trees as tall as buildings—" He stops, unwilling to tell her of the blades he'd broken against his wrists. "I discovered the only thing that could harm me was fire."

Edward is astonished to feel Bella's right hand tighten where it curls over his shoulder, the other fisting in the fabric of his shirt. He cannot resist lowering his lips to her hair, unable to believe this soft, fragile creature should fear for him. Several seconds pass, the only noise her quiet breathing, before he finally continues. "But it was this discovery that forced me to see that whatever I had become, however long this existence, I was not ready to end it. I was furious with myself." His voice turns harsh, self-recriminating. "How could I go on, taking lives as I was, however near an end? I was a thief, a vagrant—stealing clothes from laundry lines left unattended when those I had became too worn. I was just existing in the shadows, this abomination." He inhales needlessly, as if looking for the strength to continue.

"If the ground was not ready for me, I felt I should be ready for the ground. Though I knew it could not hurt me, I did not want to continue as I was." He can see the stand of pines even now, abundant on that rich peninsula of land jutting out into the blue waters of Lake Superior. He had known he would not be disturbed there, digging deep into the soft loam to make the bed that should have been his years before. "And for a time, the darkness, the silence, was peaceful."

It was the longest he had ever gone without slaking his thirst, and though he could not sleep, the drift of his thoughts was dream-like; images of his mother blurred with that of his last victim, a frail woman with bright green eyes, the lines around her lips deepening as she coughed up a mix of blood and sputum. "Oh, you came," she'd murmured faintly, her voice weak as she reached out a hand, the handkerchief caught between her fingers spattered with red.

Indistinct shapes from his childhood misted through his mind, a wooden boat painted red, the watch fob his father had allowed him to play with…all bleeding into the bright blue of the Caribbean waters. The pack of dirt against his chest and face prevented him from breathing, from seeing, but he thought that if he could only lift his hands, he might be able to play the piano that had sat always in his family's parlor, the sheet music of his mother's favorite songs vivid before his closed lids.

_Bright lights were flashing in the grand ballroom_  
><em>Softly the music playing sweet tunes<em>

The words echoed through his head, the rise and swirl of the waltz tempo drowning out all other sounds.

_There came my sweetheart, my love, my own_

It had perhaps been weeks since he'd sought this refuge in the blurred borderland dotted with forests, the burn in his throat so unceasing that he scarcely noticed it any longer.

_After the ball is over_  
><em>After the break of morn—<em>  
><em>After the dancers' leaving;<em>  
><em>After the stars are gone<em>

The beat of a nearby heart was faint but his body lunged through the soil without conscious thought, arms swinging through the earth as if it was no more a hindrance than air. His teeth found artery, sinking through flesh and warmth until the blood streamed across his tongue, quenching the burn.

Horror had chilled his veins as quickly as relief had come, muscles freezing as he began to realize what he'd done…but he'd also swiftly registered that the figure he was cradling was too slight, bones too fine for even the smallest of human children. His eyes had shot open to find the red pelt of a slender fox in his arms.

He was holding the rapidly cooling creature almost like an infant, his embrace tender, fingers threaded through the soft white fur at its belly. Its black paws dangled gracelessly, the pointed head draped over his arm, throat neatly sheared open. Edward shifted his hands, disbelieving, grasping the creature's furred skull as if to assure himself that it was not some trick of his desperate mind. Its golden eyes were open, blank and unseeing, all concern gone. Edward, filled with wonder, could only stare into the lifeless eyes, something much greater than the relief of simply slaked thirst flooding his bones.

He stops speaking as the thud of Bella's heart quickens, her breathing labored. Her voice is a gasp when she speaks, her hands trembling against him. "You drink from animals?" It is more than a question; it is a plea, a prayer, awash in desperate relief.

Edward can only tensely nod.

"The deer," she cries, her voice filled with tears.

Edward pulls her close, cradling her in his arms.

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><p>Audio of After the Ball is available here: youtube (dot) com  watch?v=fOr1ezXdCF8


	20. Let Go

Thank you for your reviews! I got to most of them, I think, and will try to answer the remaining today or tomorrow.

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><p><em>We must be willing to let go of the life we have planned, so as to have the life that is waiting for us.<em>

_A Room with a View_

**nineteen**

She has so many questions. How did he and Alice meet? Had he encountered others…like him, in all of his long years? What had he really meant when he'd told her he and Alice were a danger to Carlisle and Esme? And if he'd known her thoughts all along, why had he pried and questioned her so much during his sessions? Bella's bottom lip is caught between her teeth, uncertain of where to start, breath caught in her chest.

A sudden clatter below stairs makes it clear that, though she is still reclined, quiescent in his lap, she is not relaxed in the least; Bella springs to her feet and shoots across the bare floor boards to the door. In her concern, she has forgotten Edward's abilities, tumbling down the stairs to assure none of the Quileutes have returned in a reinvigorated effort to make her see reason. She realizes too late that she is moving too fast, barreling down the steps so quickly that she is going to collide with whatever breaks her fall at the bottom. Suddenly, strong hands clamp around her waist and she is gliding, feet barely skimming the steps, before drawing to a gentle halt before the front door.

Edward's voice is low against her ear. "What, exactly, is the rush?"

Bella spins to face him, lips parted, breathless with the fear of nearly falling as well as this demonstration of his strength and speed. She flushes as she realizes how unnecessary her instinct was to protect him. "I thought it might be Jake—or Embry or Paul." The final words grow small, trailing away as her gaze falls to her bare feet.

"You were going to defend me?" The faint note of amusement in Edward's voice intensifies Bella's embarrassment, her face hot.

"I don't know—I just thought—" Her voice falters, hands curling into fists. She hadn't thought; she had acted instinctively, filled with a strange desire to defend him.

Edward's fingers are beneath her chin, cool, comforting, his tone apologetic. "I'm sorry, Bella. I shouldn't have teased you."

Before she can respond, another thump and clatter drags her attention away, chin jerking from his grasp as she peers over his shoulder to the kitchen.

But it is only Alice, her tiny figure crouched in front of the open door of the fridge, unceremoniously pulling the contents from the shelves and dumping them into the garbage can. Her golden eyes lift as she straightens to her full height. "I didn't mean to make you get up!" she protests.

Bella frowns with confusion as she moves past Edward towards the kitchen. Though it is approaching midday, Alice has turned on the lights to brighten the dim space, her fey, black-clad figure somehow at odds in the ordinary room. "What are you doing, Alice?"

Alice's gaze lifts wordlessly to Edward, who Bella somehow knows is on her heels though he makes no sound; she can sense him behind her, a pole to her magnet. She looks over her shoulder but his gaze is fixed on Alice, a slight frown forming on his brow. Turning back to his adopted sister, she can't help examining the girl as she had done with Edward that morning, noting with new understanding the perfection of her pale skin, the deliberate mess of her inky hair, the delicate shape of her pointed face. It is almost a relief to see the wisdom of age and experience swimming in her amber gaze, no longer disorienting now that she knows Alice is not the teenager she pretends to be.

Edward breaks the silence, startling Bella from her reverie. "But what if you went instead?" Bella's lips part, confused, trying to form a question at this nonsensical statement. She is immediately distracted from this intention by the film that seems to come over Alice's expression, lips parting, golden eyes losing focus for a moment so brief, that Bella is at first not certain she didn't imagine it.

"It never changes," Alice's response is matter of fact, her gaze level and clear. Bella belatedly realizes she has just witnessed Alice having a vision, her own lips parting with wonder. Alice continues, "I would have to leave him alone for periods of time—he could not come with me to get provisions."

Edward sighs. "Very well."

Bella restrains her impatience, calmly asking, "Is anyone going to tell me what's going on?"

Both Edward and Alice are silent for a long moment and Bella can't help nervously clenching her hands, trying to restrain her worry and frustration that there is some silent communication occurring that she isn't privy to. Edward's hand falls to her shoulder and she turns at the gentle weight, facing him. His gaze is intent, staring deeply into her eyes. "Do you trust me?"

She does not hesitate, nodding adamantly. "Yes."

Edward's expression grows serious as he explains, "It is best if we leave for a short while. I do not want to be apart from you, but it is not safe for you to be in Jasper's presence."

"Jasper?" she asks, glancing over her shoulder to where Alice has resumed emptying her fridge.

"The man Alice has seen—all this time." Bella nods sharply, trying to keep up. "Even encountering your scent on my clothes—he is hunting as we do but…this is a struggle for him." His gaze briefly lifts to Alice before his attention returns to Bella, his lips tight. "And were Alice and he to leave, there would be periods where necessity would dictate she leave him alone." He inhales. "Jasper needs the restraint of others to keep him in check; Carlisle and Esme can provide that—until he becomes accustomed to…how we live."

Bella nods again, but her face has grown pale; it had not fully sunk in how dire the situation she had been in the previous night until they made it clear that there was still risk—if not to herself then to others. "Okay," she agrees faintly.

"Edward, why don't you go home and pack and I'll help Bella get her things together here." Alice's voice is pleasant but Bella senses something more in her tone, steel beneath the words. Edward frowns, gaze lifting again to examine Alice's face, before he nods.

"I'll be back in less than an hour."

Bella nods again, swallowing. Is this the point at which she'll wake up? Will the deceptively young but somehow incredibly aged girl in her kitchen dissolve into a mist as the walls of the room resolve themselves into a padded cell? Bella closes her eyes and inhales, trying to come to grips. When she opens them, she attempts to smile at the dark-haired girl. "I assume you know where we're going?"

Alice's smile in return is small and sad. "Oh, yes." She remains on the opposite side of the kitchen, several feet of dulled tile between them. Bella can't help thinking how Edward had stood before the window in her room, the bed separating them, keeping his distance…and how Carlisle and Esme had lingered on the opposite side of the island in their kitchen when they'd first met—as if Bella is a horse who might spook if they come too near.

She instantly regrets her levity, smile fading as a corresponding sorrow hardens in her throat. "It's a burden for you," she quietly states. It is not a question.

Alice's amber gaze cuts away and she is silent for several seconds, her figure unnaturally still. The words are faint when she speaks, the soprano of her girlish voice somehow incredibly wise and wistful. "It's so real, sometimes, what I see…and I have to fight…" she pauses, hesitating. "I have to fight this desire to _make_ it happen." Her golden eyes lift to Bella's face, wide and pleading.

Bella frowns, trying to understand. She is limited though, by having only learned a short time before of Alice's ability and is not able to fully comprehend her meaning. Doesn't Alice only make decisions to alter the future when she sees something adverse is going to occur?

Sensing Bella's confusion, Alice tries to explain. "So much can change, Bella. Imagine," she pauses, thinking. "Imagine a man intends to propose. He has the ring. He has rehearsed the words. And on his way to work, he is in a fatal car accident." Bella pales but nods, listening. "What if…what if his intended was somehow like me? Might she follow him? Might she try to protect him from the sheer desire of trying to assure that what he intends to do happens?"

A frown dances over Bella's brow, struggling to make sense of what Alice is saying. "Do you mean that you followed me?"

Alice shakes her head, wispy black hair swinging with the motion. "No." She is silent a moment, lips tight. "But there were other things." Her voice grows soft, golden eyes falling to the floor. "And I would understand if you felt you'd been manipulated." Bella is shaking her head to protest but Alice is still speaking. "As if you'd had no choice."

Bella's frown has faded but her mind is full of questions, eyes wide as her lips move, trying to land on where to start. Finally she asks, "What did you see?"

There is no denying the brightness that filters into Alice's gaze. "I saw you! I saw _us_!" she exclaims, a wide smile crossing her lips; Bella is taken aback, uncertain she has ever seen Alice look so happy.

"You and me?" she softly asks. She can't quite believe that she was the cause of such joy.

"We were laughing together." Alice's voice catches. "We were friends." Bella's heart is in her throat, recalling their encounter at the library and how lonely Alice had seemed; she tries to imagine that loneliness extending over far greater a time than the sixteen years she had once thought Alice to be.

Alice takes an impulsive step toward Bella, as if willing her to understand. "But I didn't tell Edward! I didn't tell anyone." Her amber eyes lift to the ceiling. "I thought—if I dwelled on it, if I worried it like a dog with a bone…" Her huff of laughter is self-mocking and Bella wonders what it has done to her, holding out hope for the man she'd sought for decades, how the years of disappointment and failure may have made her lack faith in herself, hesitant to look forward to any future incorporating joy for fear it may not occur. "If I dwelled on it, tried to force it, I'd make it go away."

"Oh, Alice." Bella can't help approaching her in turn, uncertain whether the girl—the woman—would accept her sympathy, but unable to maintain the distance between them.

Alice goes on, the words coming more quickly, a nervous flurry. "Edward gets as sick of the premonitions as I do. The little warnings—that a girl at school is going to ask him out, and then be so embarrassed when he rejects her that she'll tell all of her friends that he's gay. Or that one of the football players is going to pick a fight with him over something insignificant, to look good to his friends. Avoiding our classmates to prevent these conflicts—it's tiring. And it sometimes feels so pointless." Alice lifts a hand to her hair, dragging her slim fingers through the messy tresses. "The day with the deer, he didn't take his phone with him—which isn't an uncommon habit for him."

Bella can't help protesting, a line forming between her brows. "But he's so fast! Couldn't he have just run?"

Alice lifts her head, her gaze inexpressibly sorrowful, lips wryly twisting. "It's tiring," she says again. "He gets so tired of hiding, of lying…pretending."

Bella's voice is faint. "So he didn't run."

Alice's shoulders lift, her hands splayed wide as she cries, "Even if I'd told him, even if he'd had his phone—would he have listened?" She shakes her dark head. "He gets so despondent…" Her voice drifts away before she continues more excitedly. "And I could _see _you! You became so clear after he was arrested—not just this hazy figure, but solid, real." She shakes her head again, her high voice full of the anticipation she'd felt at the time. "I didn't tell him. I was selfish. I could see that if he knew…he wouldn't go see you."

Bella's chin lifts, finally seeing what Alice had meant by manipulation. Lies of omission, striving toward a future she wanted rather than what might have been fated. But there is something more to what Alice has just confessed that she doesn't quite understand. "But why…why would he refuse to go?"

Alice's lips twist, her brow furrowing. "You saw what happened last night, Bella. What we are…you are endangered by simply knowing us."

Bella is taken aback, disbelieving as she argues, "But you attend high school! Your father—" She hesitates, realizing her understanding of that relationship isn't entirely accurate. "Carlisle practices at the hospital." Her frown deepens. "You interact with people all the time!"

A huff of air escapes Alice's lips, her gaze darting around the room, as if seeking the right words. "Yes, we interact with people. We attend school, and go to work, and make small talk when it can't be avoided." She pauses, her gaze level and unflinching as it settles on Bella's pale features. "But we never engage. We never connect. Not only is it dangerous for us—what if someone were to try to stay in touch and begin to wonder why we never age, never change? But it's dangerous for anyone who comes too close—as you saw last night." Alice breathes deeply, a weary, resigned sigh. "It's surface. Always surface."

Bella feels cold, beginning to understand why Edward would have refused to see her. "He knew there could be no future with me." That even if they'd somehow overcome what she had thought was the inappropriateness of their draw to one another—how could they overcome what he is? And what she is not?

But Alice is shaking her head, features tight. "But I'd seen! I knew—somehow—it would work out." Her chin drops, her gaze falling to the dull tile of the kitchen floor, before her eyes lift, golden beneath jet black lashes. "Edward thought we should leave, that he'd taken things too far by allowing himself to get caught—that we should disappear, as we'd done before, and he'd simply be another delinquent youth who'd failed to show up for his court appearance." She inhales, her gaze darting away. "I had to convince him and Carlisle that it would be alright as long as Edward followed through on the court orders—without letting on the consequences of meeting you."

Bella swallows, recalling her wariness after being manipulated into visiting the Cullens' home for the first time, the sense that Alice was the captain of waters Bella couldn't quite see. She wants to forgive Alice for her actions, trying to sympathize with motives she can understand all too well. Shaking her head, Bella tries to return to the thread of their conversation. "So Edward came to the first appointment ignorant of what you'd seen."

Alice nods avidly. "But after that first visit—he could guess. You caught him off guard in so many ways…and he was furious. I couldn't keep it from him any longer." She shakes her head. "He was hopping mad, shouting at me, storming about."

Bella frowns, filled with defensiveness on Alice's behalf. "He shouldn't shout at you. You're only human."

Alice's laugh is a bright peal, her wide grin revealing even white teeth. Too late, Bella realizes her gaffe, cheeks blooming with color as her gaze falls to her feet. But Alice's voice isn't mocking when she speaks, her amusement breathless and almost admiring. "Oh, Bella, you are the only one…" Her voice trails away into a chuckle.

Bella doesn't argue but her thoughts are stubborn, insisting to herself that their need for each other, and for her, surely shows their humanity.

Alice continues after she regains her composure, waving a hand dismissively. "So he's bellowing like a stuck pig, wearing a hole in the carpet with his pacing, and yanking at his hair like a maniac. So I asked him, 'Does that mean you're not going back?'—and he hesitated!" Alice's grin is triumphant.

Bella can't help thinking of that second appointment; his abrasiveness, throwing information he shouldn't have known in her face, pushing her away…trying to make her run.

"It was only after you'd gone to Port Angeles that everything shifted again—it all changed. And I could see, Bella—" Impossibly, Alice's voice cracks. "He went to such a dark place. He _left _us…and our family means so much to him." Bella's lips part with confusion as she thinks back; she starts as she realizes they had only met four times at that point. Could she really have affected him so? Alice continues, desperation evident in her words. "He went north, to where there is no light, refusing to feed, cutting himself off from everything." There is no doubting her fear and anxiety and Bella realizes her legs have gone weak; she staggers to one of the chairs at the Formica dining room table, grasping the back for support.

Esme's words echo through her head. _But Edward has begun to suspect there is hope, that there are possibilities he had not thought were available to him._

Bella's voice is a weak whisper. "So you came to see me. You intervened."

Alice nods, her expression full of sorrow. "So-so I understand if you can't—if you don't—"

Bella interrupts before Alice can continue with her self-recriminations. "Alice, you didn't change my mind when you came to my house that day." She shakes her head as she sucks in a deep breath. "I may have had doubts that I hadn't had before—but I wanted to have faith in him. I wanted…" She abruptly stops speaking, remembering the shock of that day. "You convinced me of something I already wanted to believe."

Alice nods, her expression solemn. "Though Edward could see that, could see it in my thoughts," she pauses then quickly continues, the words rushing from her mouth. "He didn't think it could go on—that it was asking too much of you. Even if you could overcome what you thought you'd learned, was that right? Was that fair to ask of you?"

Bella can barely breathe. "So he didn't come to his next appointment."

Alice is nearly bouncing with excitement. "And so you came to our house! And Edward finally saw—"

"Nothing could have stopped this." Bella's gaze is fixed on her hands, still grasping the back of the chair. Her knuckles are paper white and she briefly wonders if she's going to faint. But Alice has thrown her arms around her shoulders, her embrace like a cool breeze, so strong Bella knows she will not fall.

"I could _see_ you again." Alice exhales against her shoulder, the words imbued with intense relief.

Bella nods as Alice steps away, forcing her gaze to remain steady. "No, I know, Alice." She swallows. "This is my choice."

Alice's expression is still tinged with sadness but a small smile plays over her lips at these words, as if she will try to have faith that this is true. Her dark head lifts, as if a sudden thought is occurring to her, before she abruptly changes the subject. "We should get you packed. Edward will return before too long."

Bella simply nods, following the spry girl up to her bedroom where Alice unerringly finds the duffel bag stowed at the bottom of her closet and begins filling it with clothes.

Leaning against the door frame, Bella watches the tiny girl dart between the dresser, the closet, and the gaping duffel on the bed, thinking back to their conversation. "If the outcome was so negative," she begins, trying to wrap her head around everything she's learned, "why didn't you somehow stop me from going to Port Angeles?"

Alice glances up from where she is digging in the top dresser drawer, pulling socks and underthings free. "Edward didn't tell you about what happens to us in direct sunlight?"

Bella thinks back to all that Edward had told her, trying to remember. "He said fire was the only thing that could cause you harm."

Alice nods, stuffing the socks into the duffel. "That's true. For all of our strength, you'll never see any of us walk into a burning building." She tilts her head, regarding Bella with a faintly amused gaze. "I imagine he didn't tell you because he's embarrassed by this aspect of our kind." She pauses, as if contemplating how much to share. Finally, amber eyes twinkling, she admits, "We are conspicuous in sunlight but not harmed." Her smile widens. "You don't think we actually enjoy living in such cloudy, dark places year round?"

Bella resists the urge to laugh, seeing how, even if they're not really siblings, Alice torments Edward like a true sister. "It sounds like you're going to leave it to Edward to explain this part to me."

Alice's smile is mischievous. "I'm hoping he'll bite the bullet and just show you."

Bella can't help smiling in return. "Alright, Alice—I won't push you to tell."

Alice's expression shifts, growing serious. "Well, I'm going to push you. You'd better get dressed—he's going to be here in four minutes." She pulls khakis and a short-sleeved indigo shirt from the duffel, shoving them in Bella's direction.

"Okay, okay," Bella acquiesces and quickly crosses the landing to the bathroom to change. Glancing in the mirror above the sink, she is surprised to see the transformation that has occurred in the few hours between her shower shortly after Jake's unexpected visit and now. There is color in her cheeks, eyes bright and full of an anticipation she has never seen before. Shaking her head, she crosses back to her room and is surprised to feel Alice's arms around her again. Before she can think, she is returning the hug.

Alice's voice is a whisper against her ear. "Have a good trip, Bella."


	21. Vast Possibilities

Thank you so much for your reviews! This is a long one so the next update won't be til next Saturday. Thank you *so much* for reading.

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><p><em>For a moment they realized vast possibilities of good.<em>

_A Room with a View_

**twenty**

Bella cannot fully shake the sensation that she is dreaming. Though the bowed porch steps beneath her feet are all too real, the gray skies over the roof tops of her neighbor's homes threatening rain, she feels sluggish and numb, as though she has not yet truly absorbed the shift in her reality. Alice stands at her side, an exuberant hummingbird, insistent on holding the heavy duffel in her thin arms. Her voice is a bright chirp as she assures Bella she'll lock all the doors and take out the recently filled trash. "Oh, here he is!"

The silver car is sleek, a bullet shooting up the street and pulling to an abrupt, silent stop at the curb. Bella doesn't first recognize the figure that springs out of the car, blinking as she tries to resolve the familiar, pale face with the suddenly mature figure beneath it. _I'm a good liar, Bella. I have to be._ Standing frozen on the porch, she watches his long limbed approach with parted lips, brown eyes wide. He pauses at the bottom step and something like uncertainty passes over his features, his hands shifting uncomfortably into the pockets of his gray trousers. "Are you ready?"

Alice doesn't give Bella a chance to respond, darting forward and shoving the canvas duffel bag into his arms. "I packed everything she'll need." She zips back up the few steps, a small hand wrapping around Bella's wrist and tugging her stunned figure forward. "I know I'll see you before too long."

Bella forces her feet to move, stumbling after Alice, her gaze fixed on Edward's shoulders as he leads the way to the silver sports car. She cannot reconcile the boy she knew, always garbed in hoodies and jeans, with the young man before her in gray trousers and a crisp white striped button up. She is beginning to fathom just how constant the Cullens' deception must be, that with something as simple as a change of clothes, Edward's appearance can leap from that of a teenager to that of an adult.

Her mind is in too great a turmoil to fully register much beyond the slamming of the car trunk and doors, Alice crouching down to snap the seat belt into place at her hip before waving through the window as she shuts the door. Bella only returns back to the present moment when Edward settles into the seat at her side, unexpectedly close in the small confines of the sporty vehicle. "What kind of car is this?" she blurts out, forcing her gaze from where his legs run parallel to her own, mere inches away.

His gaze darts to her face, looking up from turning the key in the ignition. "An Aston Martin. A DB4 GT. There were less than eighty made."

Bella swallows as the engine rumbles to life. "It's a vintage car," she says needlessly, looking over the narrow dash with its mechanical faces rimmed in chrome.

"Yes," Edward replies as he smoothly turns the wheel, pulling into the street. "It was made in 1960."

Bella bites her lip, suddenly certain that he had bought it that year—that he had been alive, walking the earth, when this car was manufactured. Any further questions die in her throat; though her intellect has begun to accept what Jacob first confessed, and what Edward has confirmed as true, her emotions are only now beginning to register all that this encompasses.

As if sensing her drifting into shock, Edward speaks, his voice calm and low. "Carlisle is less sentimental about cars than Alice or me. He usually gets a new one with every move."

Bella's hands clasp nervously in her lap but he succeeds in piquing her curiosity. "How often do you move?"

Edward's gaze remains on the road as he shifts gears, pulling onto the highway. "Every seven to ten years. It's usually all we can manage before people begin to question why none of us are aging."

"And you know…when they begin to suspect because—" Bella believes what he told her to be true, but there is doubtfulness in her voice, her brow wrinkling. "Because you can hear what they're thinking?"

Edward's head nods once in confirmation. "Alice has the most difficulty. She can pass for quite young, but the younger she starts, the more tedious she finds her surroundings."

"If she starts as a freshman, then she's stuck with a bunch of fourteen year olds."

Edward's lips tilt wryly. "Exactly." He glances down at his lap, as if indicating his current garb. "I can pass for older a bit easier, but that also means Carlisle is less believable as my father—foster or otherwise." Bella had glanced down at his wool clad legs in unison with him and is now blushing, filled with embarrassment. Her gaze darts guiltily to her clasped hands, determinedly staring down at her trembling fingers.

Silence descends, the only noise the purr of the motor and the ghosting of wheels over asphalt. Bella is overcome with emotion, a mix of discomfort and denial; though she knows there is something between them, nothing has been overtly discussed. She has barely reconciled herself to the reality of her attraction to Edward Cullen, much less the fact that it may not be as forbidden as she'd once thought. The sight of him, so smartly dressed, has heightened those feelings inexorably; her entire body feels hot and out of sorts.

Edward breaks the awkwardly lengthening silence. "I have to admit I'm curious." He glances in her direction before returning his attention to the road. "What exactly drew you to the conclusion…of what we are?"

Bella's surprise is evident as she finally lifts her gaze from her lap, a line forming between her brows. "But don't you…" She shakes her head, confused. "Don't you know what I'm thinking?" That was half of her discomfort, struggling to focus on her fingers, on the worn fabric of her khakis—on anything but his long legs, or his hand on the gear shift, or the glimpse of his wrist where the cuff of his shirt pulls back when he turns the steering wheel.

Edward's gaze shifts from the road, dark brows drawn together as he returns her stare. "I thought Alice would have told you."

"Told me what?" She can't help her gaze darting to the road, nervous at his inattention.

"That I can't hear your thoughts. That you are silent to me." Bella's eyes lock with his, suddenly uncaring of the road.

"You can't hear me?" Her voice is a squeak but seconds later, she will wonder at her disbelief in something that should seem so impossible in the first place.

Edward shakes his head, his gaze shifting back to the highway. "No. And your unflappable composure makes it no easier to guess your thoughts."

The instinct to protest is immediate but no words spill forth, Bella's mouth open but silent. Several seconds pass before she presses her lips together, a frown forming on her brow. She thinks over their sessions, how often he'd baited her, teased her—was it all in an effort to get a response? To see her react? Alice's words echo through her thoughts. _You caught him off guard in so many ways._ "You did not make it easy to remain composed," she finally replies, her voice quiet.

Edward's smile is slight but his expression quickly shifts, growing serious. "I don't think I realized how much I relied on my ability until I met you—and suddenly had to pay attention to your tone, your gestures, whether or not you made eye contact when you spoke." He doesn't mention the race of her pulse, the thud of her heart, not wanting to alarm her any more than he already has.

Bella's breath catches, wondering, suddenly filled with fear that she is a curiosity to him, a puzzle he wants to crack. But Edward is speaking again, distracting her from her anxiety. "But you didn't answer my question."

"Oh, right." She shakes her head, trying to focus. "Jacob Black was at my house this morning…" Her voice trails away as she sees his knuckles tighten over the steering wheel, his features growing more and more stormy with every word.

"Billy Black's son?"

"Right," Bella answers, uncertain as to why he is so angry, hesitation evident in her voice as she continues. "He could tell that you'd been there. And when I pressed him, he finally told me…what you were, and about the treaty."

She frowns, peering at him. "I thought maybe that was why you'd come through the window—that you were wary of being caught by them." The muscle in his jaw is jumping with how tightly his teeth are clenched so she thinks better of telling him how the Quileutes had been watching her house.

Edward shakes his head, the movement rigid. "No. According to Alice, the few times I attempted to approach your house…in a more typical manner, your neighbors noticed—and it got back to your boss at the health center."

Bella pales at the thought—then stills with the realization that she has already thrown in her lot with the Cullens; she is with Edward now, bound for who knows where, and she suddenly can't bring herself to care about small town gossip or Margery's reaction. Her gaze falls to her hands, thinking of Seth and Lissa, wondering if they'll be allowed to see her again.

Edward's voice breaks into her reverie, weary instead of angry. "I'll call Carlisle when we get to the ferry. He'll want to know that the treaty has been broken." His voice is wry again as he glances her way. "Though I don't know whether he'll pursue any confrontation with them given we haven't a leg to stand on."

Bella's voice is small. "Because I'm with you."

Edward glances at her again, his gaze hard. "Exactly."

There is another silence but it is less uncomfortable, the trees whipping by as they speed towards Bainbridge. Given the swirl of her thoughts, Bella is at first reluctant to interrupt the quiet. But she finally speaks, her curiosity overcoming her. "Did Alice not see…that I spoke to him?"

Edward shifts uncomfortably in his seat, gaze fixed on the black asphalt before him. "The Quileutes have their secrets, too," he finally admits. Bella's brows draw together, unable to fathom how much more she doesn't know. Edward goes on, "I can't explain entirely—but Alice's vision is…incomplete whenever they're involved. She can sometimes make out the people they're interacting with, but it's as if they're among shadows." Sensing her growing confusion, he tries to explain. "For instance, when she saw you decide to go to Port Angeles," he pauses, frowning, trying to think of a description that will make sense. "It was like a film with frames missing. She could see you in a classroom, but there were shadows all around—then the vision cut to you driving through a town filled with shadows—before you crossed the reservation line and everything became crystal clear."

Bella shivers, disturbed by this image of herself, surrounded by darkness. "So she didn't see the conversation." It is the one truth she can grasp among all of the mystery.

Edward shakes his head. "No. Besides which—" He falters. "After I'd come to your house last night, I told her to stop looking for you—to leave you alone."

Bella longs to cover his hand on the gear shift but stops herself. Her voice is soft and full of feeling when she speaks. "I guessed as much."

Edward's golden gaze darts her way, surprised. "That's also why I had no idea you were going to call." His lips twitch, thinking of how Alice had shot across the living room as he'd reached into his pocket for his phone, squealing Bella's name. He'd been disbelieving, staring down at the unknown number in shock, telling himself that she'd hung up, that she was afraid, that she had every reason to be afraid, and could not possibly want to speak to him.

Bella's lips are lifting as well, though her small smile is for a different reason. "Well, I'm relieved to know that despite your special abilities, you guys aren't invincible."

Edward's reply is measured. "No. Not invincible at all."

Far too soon, they are trading the intimacy of the sports car for the hull of an enormous Washington state ferry; it is less crowded at this hour given it's a weekday and the few commuters have mostly made their way to work. Bella decides to stretch her legs and climbs the narrow metal stairs to the upper deck while Edward uses the cover of the whipping wind below to speak with Carlisle on his cell.

She can recall taking this ferry to visit Charlie during spring breaks and the occasional long weekend after she'd begun attending the University of Washington. Her gaze falls to her feet, thinking of the sense of obligation she'd felt during those journeys, and how her anticipation now seems such a sharp contrast. Impulsively, she pushes through the doors leading to the outer deck, uncaring of the sharp April winds, sea spray kicking up from the dark waves of the Puget Sound below. But the sting of the wind cannot distract her from her remorseful thoughts, chestnut waves whipping around her face as she shoves her hands into her pockets, goose bumps prickling along her bare arms.

Her gaze follows the white dashes of hovering gulls, wings spread and unmoving as they ride the gust of wind. She longs to tell herself that perhaps she has escaped her fate, that vision of herself climbing the same stairs to the same small room, and the same narrow bed…day after day, nothing to mark the difference in her hours but for the change of the seasons and her own inexorable aging. She thinks of the forget-me-nots wedged beneath her windshield wiper, of his hands caressing her hair as he'd told her of his past, of his uncanny ability to see into the heart of her despite her best efforts to hold him at arm's length. She longs to be more than a curiosity, a puzzle he seeks to unlock.

"What are you doing out here? Aren't you cold?" Edward is behind her, a hesitant hand on her shoulder, his voice loud in her ear as he endeavors to be heard over the whistle of the wind.

She simply nods, unable to meet his gaze as she allows him to usher her back inside. Questions hover on Bella's tongue as he guides her towards one of the booths that line the upper deck, the seats beige vinyl, the sky dull and gray beyond the glass. Damp drops speckle the panes; she wonders if they are from the sky or the sea.

Edward speaks before she can form the thoughts, the words. "Carlisle is going to hold off on calling any type of meeting with the tribe." His golden gaze falls to his hands, his forefinger restlessly circling his thumb. "Given Jasper's arrival, and your departure, there would be far too much to explain on our part—"

"And Alice wasn't able to see anything?" Bella asks, her own hands nervously clasping in her lap.

He shakes his head, the amber of his eyes anxious as they rise to meet hers. "I understand if you've changed your mind. If you want to return—"

"No!" Bella is surprised by the force with which the word escapes her mouth. She presses her palms to the fabric of her khakis, fixing her gaze on a chip in her thumb nail. She can't understand why she is filled with such distress at the suggestion of abandoning this plan, her heart suddenly pounding against her ribs.

His voice is quiet. "Alright."

They don't speak for the remainder of the ferry ride and only later will she regret not taking advantage of the privacy of the drive from Seattle down to SeaTac International. For once they are in the melee of the terminal, there is no opportunity to raise the multitude of questions that still haunt her thoughts, the press of people so great that he curls a hand around her elbow to assure she stays at his side.

Bella is so distracted by the pressure of his fingers against the bare flesh of her inner arm that she does not first register what he is doing; she simply follows as he drifts through the mob of passengers attempting to check in, drop off their luggage, and head to a second set of queues for security. It is only when he draws to an abrupt stop that she comes to her senses, lips parting to form a question as she looks up at him in confusion.

Edward speaks first, his head turning to look over his shoulder at the check-in counter several feet away. "Just wait here."

Bella nods, watching as he approaches a lone Delta clerk who is off to the side, chatting with someone who appears to be a baggage handler given their bright yellow vest and baggy jumpsuit. The clerk is pretty, dark hair slicked into a bun, the severe lines of her uniform failing to conceal her curves. Bella can't hear the conversation but watches with a growing sense of unease as Edward interrupts, pale hands smoothly gesturing as he speaks to the woman. Though Edward's back is to her, a flare of something unfamiliar and hot unfurls in Bella's stomach as the woman's features soften, painted lips parting. The feeling hardens into a knot when the clerk smiles brightly and leans forward to reply, her head tilting flirtatiously.

Edward nods in response as he reaches into his pocket, pulling forth a leather wallet and handing over a driver's license and credit card. Bella briefly wonders what date of birth the identification shows, if the credit card has the name she knows him by. Before she can tell herself to remember to ask him, he is looking over his shoulder, waving a hand in her direction.

Startled, Bella leaps forward, awkwardly hefting the duffel bag he'd left at her feet when he'd initially approached the Delta clerk. She doesn't see the woman's expression shift from warm and welcoming to cool and detached, but she can note the difference when she looks up after dumping the duffel back on the ground. "Identification?" the clerk coldly asks.

Bella doesn't bother to restrain her own impolite response, yanking her wallet out of her pocket and abruptly shoving the driver's license towards the woman.

The clerk appears not to notice, smiling again at Edward as she clicks away at the computer terminal before her. "Alright, Mr. Masen. You are all checked in for your flight to Chicago, as is your intern." She turns her gaze to Bella, her smile stiffening. "You'll board at Gate A-12 so you'll want to go through the security check directly to your left."

Bella sneaks a sideways glance at Edward but his eyes are fixed on the clerk's face, an easy smile on his lips. She cannot fathom the surly teen who's haunted her thoughts appearing at all charming, her frown deepening as he reminds the clerk that they still need to check Bella's duffel. She stares down at her feet for the remainder of the exchange, and can't bring herself to lift her gaze even after he hands her the slick boarding pass and again takes her elbow to guide her towards security.

It is only after they've been through all the checks and screens that his voice murmurs near her ear. "What's wrong?"

Bella's lips tighten, her gaze firmly fixed on the floor, avoiding his own. She finally opens her mouth to tell him everything is fine but as she lifts her eyes, the genuine concern evident in his expression gives her pause. Her gaze darts to the people streaming past, intent in reaching their gates, paying them no heed. She suddenly envies them their simple lives.

"Bella," Edward's voice is soft, bringing her back to reality.

She shakes her head then lifts a hand to her brow, unable to find the words. Finally, she blurts, "It's just—" She gestures at his clothes. "This…" She flings a hand back towards security and the departures terminal from which they've just come. "…and that. You're so…different." She knows it's not fair, that for them to travel together without notice he should attempt to look closer in age to her twenty-three years, but she can't help the lost, disjointed feelings that accompany all these shifts.

Edward gazes down at her with something like surprise, golden eyes wide. "I know," she admits, frustrated with her inability to articulate herself. "It's stupid." Bella drags her hands over her face, briefly covering her eyes; she suddenly feels embarrassed, wondering if he's regretting letting her in.

Edward's hand is on her arm again, tentative, gentle. "I know—" He inhales, faltering. "You've had a lot to take in today. But this," he gestures down at his clothes, his voice low. "This is just window dressing."

Bella swallows, gazing up at him, wanting to trust him, wanting to find some center that will hold.

His fingers circle around her arm, gently tugging her towards a bank of vending machines and away from the crowd of people. He leans close, his voice a low murmur, so near that his breath stirs her hair as he speaks only for her. "I listened." Bella endeavors to remain very still, suddenly highly aware of how close his lean figure is to her own. "I listened for someone who was susceptible—who wouldn't question a last minute purchase, or automatically flag us for additional searches. She was the best fit: vain, self-centered, and gullible."

Bella's voice is weak, all of her turmoil dying away. "Oh."

"You have to understand," he pauses. "I don't like this—this oily obsequiousness, manipulating people to get what I want."

Bella's voice is soft. "But it's sometimes necessary." She wonders how often he has to put on this façade, beginning to fathom why he's grown so tired of pretending.

Edward simply nods, lips wryly twisting. He then tilts his head towards the gate, his expression questioning. Bella nods in return, allowing him to lead the way down the wide corridor lined with bright shops.

The remaining time before their flight departs is largely spent finding something for Bella to eat; she protests when he offers to pay, and only relents when he points out that she wouldn't be traveling in the first place if it wasn't for him. Soon, they are on the plane, comfortably lodged in first class with an attentive stewardess offering them drinks before the flight is fully boarded. Bella marvels at this luxury, and is surprised when Edward orders juice for her and water for himself. Only later, after the plane has been in the air for some hours, will she realize that he hasn't touched it. Seeing her gaze on the still full bottle, Edward quietly remarks, "As long as you order something in the first place, it's rare anyone notices."

O'Hare is a blur: mobs of people beneath high arched ceilings of glass, the smell of fast food mixing with the car exhaust from the line of cabs just beyond the sliding doors, the shouting of rental car agents mixing with the weary conversation of passengers waiting for their luggage. Edward somehow maneuvers her duffel and his small suitcase outside, where Bella is startled to see it's dusk, a haze of pink hovering at the horizon.

But she has no time to marvel for Edward has already gained one of the driver's attention and is loading their things into the trunk. "Burnham Hotel," he quietly states as they settle into the back seat. Soon, she is craning her neck, wishing she could see more than the expanse of freeway and the deciduous trees that line the concrete strip, concealing the city from view.

As they near the city center, cars increasingly clot around them, traffic slowing to a trickle; the driver flips open his cell phone and begins barking in a language Bella doesn't understand. She suddenly feels very far away from Forks.

Edward's fingers drift across the back of her hand and her gaze darts to his face, startled. His lids are low, his eyes fixed on the cream of her hand in the gloom of the car, features pensive as he softly speaks. "The Burnham Hotel was built in 1895." Bella swallows and nods, understanding the implication; it was built when he was still alive. "It was the Reliance Building then." His gaze drifts to the window, watching the tangle of cars inching along the highway, headlights spearing the growing darkness. "It's only fourteen stories, but at the time it was a skyscraper…a marvel." Edward's gaze shifts back to her hand, his fingers still hovering, barely touching the pale softness of her skin. "There was extensive restoration some time ago but they stayed very true to the original design." His golden eyes lift to her face, his gaze intent. "I'm eager for you to see it."

Bella nods again, unable to speak. The cab soon darts off the freeway, cast into shadow by the dark steel of the elevated line above. Edward's voice is quiet, barely audible over the churn of traffic, honking horns and rumbling engines. "These were drawn by steam locomotives when they first opened."

Bella's expression is one of wonder, trying to imagine, longing to ask if he'd ridden in them then but cautious with the cab driver present.

The rise of buildings on either side of the street replaces the shadow of the elevated line, reminding her of the downtown core of Seattle; modern skyscrapers of glass and chrome mix with midcentury concrete blocks, older buildings with art deco flourishes diminutive among them. Ornate iron street lights march up each side of the street, halos of yellow against the night sky.

The hotel is located at the corner of a busy intersection, several department stores with bright logos contrasting to its refined exterior. The cab pulls into the loading zone and Bella feels Edward's palm press to the back of her hand. "Please wait here." Then, to the cab driver, his voice rings out low and authoritative. "We have one more destination."

The cab driver grunts in response, one meaty hand patting the meter. Bella watches with wide eyes as a doorman springs from behind glass doors curtained in gold, rounding to the back of the car where she hears the shuffle of bags being unloaded. Edward appears at the doorman's side, following him to the entrance; she sees his hand smoothly slipping into his pocket and retrieving a bill for a tip.

Her gaze falls to her lap, her thoughts in such a whirl that she cannot even begin to speculate as to where he intends to take her next. She realizes with a slight start that she is not in the least worried or afraid, her brow furrowing as she wonders if she should be. But even with all she has learned about him, even with the smell of city exhaust and glass towers looming all around her, none of it feels quite real.

She tries to grasp the implication of him bringing her here, to this immense city, to his home—but she has barely begun to wrap her mind around the truth of what he is, despite the evidence she has experienced and seen. Her eyes sink shut as she remembers his admission that he cannot abide cities and nearly laughs at her misinterpretation of why that could be. She wonders how he can bear it now.

The slam of the car door jerks her from her thoughts, Edward's figure sliding into the cab, his amber gaze fixed on the driver before the interior light flashes off. He gives a cross street instead of an address before leaning back into the seat, his hand covering her own again.

The gesture feels like a desire to be comforted as much as it is comforting. Bella's breath catches in her chest, forcing herself to be still, to accustom herself to this, however new and unfamiliar. She focuses on the passing cityscape beyond the window, seeking calm in distraction, watching as the towers of downtown transition to a more residential neighborhood. Brick apartment buildings perch among newer condominiums, modern and brightly lit; sporadically mixed within are older houses, once grand residences now worn and in disrepair, multiple doors marching along porches that must have once been the refuge of a single family on warm evenings.

It is only when the interior light flicks on that Bella realizes they have arrived, her dazed reflection replacing the view beyond the window. Edward is already offering a wad of cash to the driver, his other hand on the latch of his door. She shakes her head, trying to snap out of her fog, hurrying to follow as he slips into the night.

He is waiting for her on the curb, his hands shoved in his pockets, his features cast in shadow. "This way." He turns, striding down the pavement; though his pace is intent and purposeful, forcing her to scurry to keep up, she senses something furtive and reserved in the hunch of his shoulders, the tension of his fists jammed into trouser pockets. His features dash in and out of the darkness, intermittently illuminated by the street lights above, shadows playing over his features where spindly trees obscure the light. She nearly stumbles into him when he stops midway down the block, his shoulders rigid as he turns to face the opposite side of the street.

She peers up at him curiously but quickly realizes he is not going to speak, his lips a thin line, features tensed and dark with something she can't identify: sadness, remorse, anger…perhaps all three. Bella slowly turns her attention to where his gaze is fixed, wondering what he has brought her to see.

She sees a house like many of the others they'd passed on their way to this destination, its width closely flanked by an apartment building on one side and a newer residence on the other. Even in the gloom of evening she can tell the paint has not been updated in some time, its appearance dingy and worn. A window on the second story glows with light; the one next to it frames broken blinds and the third in the row is messily hung with a colorful tapestry. The porch below is like a flawed smile, several balustrades missing from the front railing. A bike is padlocked to one of the porch posts and a line of dull brass mailboxes hang next to the front door.

Despite this shabbiness, she can easily see the house was once beautiful. The mansard roof gives it character, the lead panes of one of the ground floor windows hinting at how they must have all once boasted an intricate pattern. The curve of the remaining porch balustrades is elegant, feminine, likely hand-turned by craftsmen whose trade has since become a novelty.

The realization sinks in slowly, her heart pounding with the dawning knowledge of what he is showing her. Her voice is a whisper when she speaks. "This was your house."

Something seems to drain out of Edward, his shoulders visibly sagging with her words. His voice is very quiet when he finally responds. "Life goes on without you."

There is more to his words, to his tone, than this simple sentiment. Her gaze darts to his features, haunted and full of a torment she knows she cannot understand, then back to the house with its neglected exterior, its apartments doubtlessly battered by a century of careless tenants, bathrooms and kitchens crammed into unlikely closets and corners. She senses his attempt to show her the distance between them, to make her understand just how much time and space separates them. Something defiant and fierce ignites in her stomach, refusing to accept it.

Her voice is soft yet insistent. "What if I already feel like that's happening?"

There is a long pause in which she is certain he is going to round on her, harsh and insightful as he has so often been before. But he simply stands silently at her side and slowly she begins to see some of the sadness ease from his features.

Then his hand is encircling her own, fingers cool in her warm grasp.

* * *

><p>The Aston Martin DB4 GT: youtube (dot) com  watch?v=GIb9K764lgc

The Burnham Hotel: burnhamhotel (dot) com /


	22. Encourage Romance

Thank you so much for your reviews and to everyone who's recommended this story elsewhere.

* * *

><p><em>Henry did not encourage romance and she was no girl to fidget for it.<em>

_Howard's End_

**twenty-one**

Bella thinks it must be part of her disorientation that she feels the damp tap of a rain drop against her cheek seconds later. They have begun approaching a distant intersection, Edward's hand still firm around her own, the white flash of headlights streaking through the darkness ahead. The smell of city, car exhaust and moldering garbage, is evident in the warm air. How can it be that the rain she so associates with home could have followed them to Chicago?

"This way," Edward's voice is commanding, his hand tightening around her own as he tugs her towards the arterial.

But it is no use. This rainfall is not like the precipitation that occurs on the Olympic peninsula, that constant leaking damp that seems to mist from the sky. No, this rain is from a weather system born on the wide open expanse of the plains, a landscape comparatively flat and unimpeded by the mountains that surround the northwest. This is a storm, not a relentless, tiring drizzle; it is stronger, more tumultuous, the rain drops fat and heavy as they fall from the darkened skies.

By the time they reach the intersection, Bella is thoroughly soaked; tendrils of hair stick to her cheeks as she races behind Edward, arm extended as she hangs onto his hand. He stops so quickly that she collides with him, nearly ricocheting off of him given her unusually fast pace. She can't help laughing as she stumbles back, giddy with the unlikeliness of these circumstances. When she looks up, still smiling, she finds Edward is looking down at her with surprise…before his own lips tilt with wry humor. He is equally soaked, messy hair plastered to his scalp, pale face streaked with rain. Abruptly, his gaze darts to the road before his arm shoots into the air to hail a cab.

A yellow sedan, windshield wipers flicking to and fro, cuts through traffic to reach the curb. Edward steps back and allows her to slip inside first before settling onto the bench seat at her side, the door clicking shut and surrounding them in darkness. "The Burnham Hotel." She can imagine, given his low voice, the long legs parallel to her own reaching down to the floor of the cab, and the confident hand grasping her fingers, that they might be a normal couple caught in an unexpected downpour. She can tell herself that he is not a frozen seventeen year old boy, that she is not troubled by all she's learning, and that the conclusion of this night is not an utter mystery to her.

Edward's voice quietly cuts through the darkness, breaking into her thoughts. "I'm sorry to have got you caught in this."

She stills, briefly wondering if he means more than this moment. She is suddenly grateful his hand had again caught up her own. She squeezes it, attempting to be reassuring. "Please don't be." Then, more quietly, she adds, "I wouldn't want to be anywhere else." As she speaks the words she realizes that, despite her doubts, it's true.

Edward is silent for several heartbeats before he leans close, his shoulder brushing her own. "Not even sunny Phoenix?"

Her nose wrinkles before she realizes he's teasing. She hesitates before bumping his shoulder back. "I got the sense you're not much for the sun."

The huff of air in the darkness is a mix of laughter and exasperation. "Alice…?" he starts to speak, his sister's name fading away as a question.

"But of course," she replies, daring to playfully squeeze his hand again. "She said you'd show me."

His voice is grudging. "At some point."

Their arrival at the hotel cuts the conversation short, a doorman darting forward a few seconds too late as Bella steps out of the cab and into the downpour. Edward's hand finds her own again as they race towards the glass doors, tugging her along. He doesn't slow his pace once they enter the hotel and she laughs as they run across the gilded lobby in squelching shoes to the elevator.

"Oh!" She suddenly absorbs her surroundings and is astonished by the ornate iron gate that closes across the doors before the elevator begins to slowly rise. Once it settles into place on the topmost floor, Edward wrenches the gate aside to reveal corridors tiled in black and gold, pillars of ivory colored marble marching down the hall. She can't help staring up at him, taken aback by the luxury. Meeting her gaze, his smile falters and she quickly tries to shift her expression from one of shock to mild surprise, struggling to be comfortable with an expense she knows she can't pay back.

Edward is silent as he leads to the way to the suite, the bedroom visible through the curtained French doors of the sumptuous sitting room, the distant windows looking over the waters of Lake Michigan. "I-I…Edward—" she barely manages to choke out, brown eyes wide as her gaze darts around the suite. The carpet beneath her feet is a rich red spun with swirls of gold, the walls papered in a deep umber stripe; the sitting room sports a chocolate loveseat and armchairs fitted with brass tacks, a flat screen television on one wall, a gas fireplace on the other. Heavy drapes in red and gold are tucked back from wide windows overlooking night sky, city lights, and gleaming water. Bella can barely catch her breath.

"You should get in the shower." The words are gruff, Edward's eyes trained on his feet as he crosses the sitting room to the bedroom with long strides, unerringly turning to the bathroom and flicking on the lights. Bella obediently follows him into the white tiled space, belatedly realizing she has begun to shiver. It is at this point that he turns in the brightly lit room, the floor to ceiling mirror on the far wall reflecting the sudden glower darkening his features. "I'll leave you to it," he mutters darkly, quickly sliding past her to the door. Bella flinches as it slams behind him.

She lifts her eyes to the mirror, brown eyes wide and confused, and pushes wet tendrils of hair back from her temples. As her gaze lowers, a flush abruptly blooms in her cheeks at seeing her dark blue top is soaked through, the lace of her bra apparent beneath the fabric. Her eyes flash to the door, filled with wonder and worry, before she turns from the mirror and slowly begins unbuttoning her shirt.

Bella wants to luxuriate beneath the hot spray of the shower for hours, but curiosity sends her from the steamy room soon after she finishes rinsing the shampoo from her hair. Wrapped in a fluffy towel that dwarfs her figure, she pads into the bedroom and is unsurprised to see her duffel open on the enormous king sized bed. He had also thoughtfully shifted the drapes into place before the window panes, the two bedside lamps offering a warm glow, the space suddenly private and hushed.

"Goddamnit," the curse is a mutter under her breath that she can't restrain upon finding that Alice has packed none of her usual sleep clothes. Instead of the sweats and thermal shirts or worn tees she typically wears to bed, she has found only a pair of cotton shorts and a few racerback tanks. Her lips thin as she holds up the shorts; she'd bought them by mistake several years before, pulled from a clearance pile that she'd thought was all pants. She only ever dons them when the rest of her laundry is dirty.

She yanks on the shorts, cheeks pink with heat and embarrassment, before pulling a ribbed tank over her head. The knock at the door is soft. "Is everything okay?" Edward's voice is wary and Bella starts, surprised he'd heard her.

She stills, staring at the door curiously. At a normal volume, she asks, "So you have super hearing in addition to being super fast?"

There is a brief pause before Edward replies. "I've never eavesdropped on you."

Bella flits to the door, opening it a crack. "I didn't think you had." She smiles up at him, trying to put him at ease, unaware of how her flush has yet to fully fade, her throat and the skin at her collar bones still pink with heat. Edward's gaze drops before abruptly darting to her eyes, his lips thinning.

"I didn't mean to interrupt you," he says stiffly.

"It's fine, I'm done," Bella softly replies, crossing her arms over her chest. "Do you want to use the shower?" She wonders if it's necessary given his cool temperature, but he nods and slips inside as she widens the door.

Hearing the sound of running water, Bella turns to the bed and decides to heave her bag into the wardrobe on the far wall. As she does so, she notes the hard edges of books within its canvas folds. Kneeling, she retrieves three of the novels that Alice had insisted on lending her the first time she'd visited the Cullens' house. Bella's gaze grows thoughtful before she turns to the bed and tucks beneath the covers with one of the books.

It is in this manner that Edward discovers her, a soft rise among the furrows and ripples of the pale yellow bedding, dark hair fanned against the pillow, E.M. Forster's _Where Angels Fear to Tread_ concealing her features from view.

She shifts the book to the side, revealing one brown eye that abruptly widens. Edward stands framed in the doorway, billows of steam unfurling around him as he roughly towels his hair. Bella's voice is nearly a squeak when she blurts, "Where are you going to sleep?"

Edward stills, anxiety apparent in his gaze. His lips part but he doesn't speak. Bella thinks back, his continued silence prompting her to sift over their long conversation that morning. Her expression softens with the slow dawning of understanding; she pictures him lying beneath the earth, unable to find peace. "You don't sleep."

Edward nods his head and drags the damp towel still in his hand over his hair again, his eyes taking refuge in the floor. Bella's voice is faint when it meets his ears, expressing the very thing that had most concerned him. "Everything is so different…" Edward's gaze rises at hearing the shift of her body against the mattress, unsurprised to find she's straightened, sitting up against the headboard. Her lips quirk as she regards him with a steady stare. "And yet also very much the same."

He knows he must appear younger in the plaid drawstring pants and tee shirt, that with his hair damp and messy he can pass for the seventeen years he'd once lived. He briefly recalls the pomade he'd nervously slicked into his hair before sneaking off to the recruiting station, his eyes sinking shut at the hazy memory.

Bella's voice drags him from the past, her tone speculative, as if she is ticking off a grocery list and hopes he'll add anything she's forgotten. "Speed, strength and powerful hearing." Edward looks up and sees she has discarded the book, its spine splayed upon the bedding, as she lists his inhuman traits with her fingers. "Mind reading, but it sounds like that's isolated to you alone—and no sleeping." Her gaze rises to his and he's relieved to see something almost mischievous there as she holds five fingers aloft. Her eyes momentarily flare wide, "Oh!" A faint smile dances across her lips as she raises her other hand, a single finger pointing to the ceiling. "And something mysterious happens in the sun."

Edward's mouth reluctantly tilts as he approaches the bed, cautiously sitting on the edge. The light from the bedside lamp is warmly yellow and he can almost imagine for a minute that the warmth might transfer to his flesh, that he would not cause her to shiver were he to touch the bare skin of her arm. Several seconds pass in which he examines the rumple of the bedding, unspeaking. The words finally ache forth, his voice deeply apologetic. "I don't want to keep the truth from you—to hide." His gaze rises to her face, golden eyes sincere.

Bella nods slowly. "I know." She recalls his claim on the courthouse steps and her realization only earlier that day that part of the reason for his honesty with her might be for his benefit. Worry darts across her gaze, uncertain this is an invitation to ask about all of the shadowy unknowns—and reluctant to assume he'd answer any question were she to voice it. It's such a drastic shift from before. "I think I can handle it—the contradictions," she finally continues as her gaze sweeps his frame, taking in his newly youthful appearance. "I know I can handle all the…abilities you have—especially given what I've handled so far." Her lips quirk wryly, taking refuge in humor. "I just want to be sure you can't…like, see through doors or something."

Edward can't help laughing, shaking his head. Then his lips tilt, eyes twinkling. "I can see in the dark, though."

Bella pauses but quickly recovers, appearing to take this news in stride. "Well, then I'll be sure to use you as a guide dog should we ever get lost in the woods at night." Edward laughs again, the sound rich and genuine, and she flushes with pleasure that she could have this effect on him. She continues before he can offer up any other startling facts about himself. "If you don't sleep, then what do you intend to do all night?"

His messy head tilts, a shoulder lifting nonchalantly. "Read, listen to music. What I always do."

Bella can't help thinking how lonely this sounds. "Do you want to read to me?"

Edward stills, his features smooth and inscrutable, before he slowly nods. She scoots over on the bed, patting the now vacant space at her side. Edward picks up the book and shifts into place against the headboard. There is no mistaking the wonder in his voice as he begins reading aloud.

Bella's breathing has slowed when Edward allows the drone of his voice to fade, glancing down at her recumbent figure against the soft yellow of the sheets and blankets. Her lips are slightly parted, lashes dark against her cheeks; one arm is thrown up behind her head, the white curve of her shoulder disappearing beneath the covers. Edward sets the book on the night stand and gently pulls the covers up to her chin before turning out the lights and silently padding from the room.

Bella awakens to stripes of white peeking around the heavy curtains draping the windows. She rears from the pillows, momentarily disoriented, before recalling where she is, who she is with. Then, the smell of bacon meets her nostrils.

She manages to remember to pull on one of the downy robes tucked into the wardrobe before fumbling into the sitting room. She is somehow unsurprised to see Edward fully dressed in a pale blue oxford cloth button up and light khakis, a book in his hands. "I ordered room service," he gestures to the silver tray on the coffee table before the loveseat.

"Thank you," Bella murmurs as she sits down and begins to load up a plate. "What are you reading?" she asks after taking a bite of toast.

He glances in her direction. "_The Black Prince_." She notes his eyes are not as golden as the day before, the irises having darkened ever so slightly at the edges.

"Oh," she replies faintly, realizing that this is one lie he must have told her—that he has not in fact worn contacts, that this is some aspect of what he is that she has yet to learn.

"I was thinking," Edward's voice is smooth, interrupting her thoughts. "Perhaps we could see some of the city today? It's to remain overcast with chances of rain—this time we'll take an umbrella."

Bella nods. "I'd be happy to do anything. I've never been here before so it will all be new to me."

"Perfect."

After showering, she astonishes herself with how easily she is able to lie again to Maria, claiming that what she had thought was weariness is actually the flu. Edward avoids her gaze as she speaks into the phone and she wonders if he feels guilty at pulling her into this tangle of deception, however minor. She cannot ask him, though, for he is soon ducking out the door and there is no way to speak openly with other hotel patrons in the elevator as well as the lobby…and soon enough, she is distracted by the wonders of the Art Institute of Chicago, lost in thought as she explores the mix of paintings and sculptures.

Brochure in hand, she stops and gazes mutely at a small oil painting depicting the abduction of Europa. Her gaze is fixed on the pale figure of the Phoenician princess, flesh so similar to the white of the bull beneath her but for the dusky pink of her gown. A plump arm extends towards the shore but only one of her attendants appears to have noticed her kidnapping, frantically lifting her arms in return; the other figures are idle, unconcerned, the sky darkening ominously above their heads.

Edward's voice is quiet near her ear. "And Zeus made her a queen."

Bella nearly drops her brochure, fingers fumbling as she starts at the sound of his voice. She spins to face him. "It's just a myth." Her face flushes after hearing herself speak, knowing that these past days have proven to her that some myths can be based in truth.

Edward appears to take no notice, shrugging before he asks, "Are you hungry? We've been here for some time and I don't want you to miss a meal."

Bella is instantly defensive, unaccustomed to anyone attempting to look after her. "I'm fine but…" She thinks of the breakfast tray, half of the food untouched. Her voice drops to a whisper. "What about you? What will you do?"

Edward shrugs again, avoiding her gaze. "I've gone far longer. I'll be fine once we return to the peninsula."

But he hasn't told her when that will be and she can't bring herself to ask. In any case, her stomach growls audibly, disproving her earlier claim. Edward's gaze alights on her face, his expression flinty. "Come. Let's get you lunch."

His pace is swift, the paintings and sculptures a blur as she she attempts to keep up, a mix of portraits watching darkly as she passes by. The image of Europa lodges in her mind, dragged to the sea by the white bull. "Edward, could we…" Her voice trails away as she realizes she wants much more than for him to slow down. He stops, looking down at her expectantly. "Can we eat somewhere…where we can talk?" She doesn't want to get cooped up in a restaurant where the presence of others will limit their conversation. "There's just…" She inhales, struggling for the resolve to raise the topic. "There's just so much I don't know."

"Of course."

They find a deli not far from the museum, little more than a glass counter with a few obligatory seats near the door. Bella orders a sandwich with her wallet in hand, refusing to look his way as she pays, smiling brightly at the clerk as he hands over her food. Edward then leads the way down busy city streets, Bella on his heels, unerringly landing upon a small park. The scrap of green is a tiny oasis of spindly trees and patchy grass, seemingly forgotten between older brick buildings; its two park benches are empty and scrawled with graffitti.

Edward crosses to one of the benches and takes a seat. Bella follows suit, nervously perching on the edge. His expression is carefully neutral, waiting for her to speak.

Bella's gaze falls to her lap, her mind reeling through the dozens of questions that have hovered on her tongue since yesterday morning. She blinks down at her hands as she struggles to settle on one.

Why had he brought her here of all places?

Did he think the Delta clerk was pretty?

Why had he slammed out of the bathroom the night before?

What exactly are his feelings for her?

Her lip catches beneath her teeth, her heart thudding nervously against her rib cage as she fights the urge to ask questions she isn't certain she wants the answers to. Finally, she settles on what she hopes is an easy, innocuous one. "How did you meet Alice?"

Edward's eyes narrow before he nods sharply. He gestures to the foil wrapped sandwich in her lap. "Eat," he orders. "And I'll talk."

Obediently, she does as he asks, raising her gaze once she's taken a bite.

Edward is silent for a long moment before his eyes fall to his hands, unable to watch her as he speaks, unable to see the openness and acceptance in her expression shift, close off, change. He tells himself that she knows the worst and she is still here—she has not run screaming despite all she's learned. He thinks of her figure, relaxed and warm next to his in the bed last night, trusting him—even with the knowledge of what he is. His lips move, trying to find the words. Finally, he decides to start at the beginning.

_Mississippi 1920_

The transition of the landscape from flat farmland bordered by wind-battered trees to the lush green of the river delta had indicated how far his journey had taken him—far more than the occasional accent overheard in the small towns he passed through, or the style of clothing of the people he glimpsed, or the type of music he heard piping from pianos in front parlors. Though he no longer relied on the sick and dying for his sustenance, being around people, however distant, gave him a sense of normalcy that nothing else could.

Nonetheless, he remained wary as he knew he drew curiosity, attention, and often concern whenever he lingered too long in one place; people inevitably wondered where his parents were, even when he simply sat in a diner warming his hands around a cup of coffee. His shabby clothes and worn rucksack triggered thoughts of runaways, vagrants, veterans of the recent war driven mad by all they'd seen in the trenches—a trouble-maker no matter how docile he attempted to appear, eyes cast to the ground, hands in his pockets. Giving people time to notice anything more was simply too dangerous.

It was Mark Twain that had sent him south, paralleling the curve and bend of the Mississippi deep into the heart of the former Confederacy. He'd been enthralled by Huck Finn and Tom Sawyer's adventures as a boy, and rediscovering the books in a rucksack seemingly forgotten by its owner in a rail car had filled him with sudden inspiration. After all, it wasn't as if he had anything else to do—and he certainly had all the time in the world.

He'd veered east as he'd closed in on the delta and the larger cities clustered around its busy waterways, unable to withstand the cacophony of thoughts, the chaos of noise and scents and lights. A back road provided his new waterway, trailing through marshy bottomlands left fallow by sharecroppers who'd gone bankrupt as the price of cotton had fallen. He occasionally neared smaller towns, but ventured out only after the sun had set regardless. After all, he could not cover up as he did in colder climes without drawing more notice than he already warranted.

Dawn had begun to color the sky as he passed beneath dogwoods heavy with pink and white blooms, maples draped in Spanish moss, and weeping willows with branches cast low to the ground. A mist drifted through the trees, damp and faintly smelling of the river and the sea. He was beginning to think about where to take refuge for the day, some cluster of drooping willows that might provide shade as well as concealment, when the tendril of a distant thought whispered through his mind.

_The golden healer or the red-eyed soldier? A fox in the chicken coop brings the slaughter. The golden healer or the red-eyed soldier? _

He'd stilled, listening.

_The golden healer or the red-eyed soldier? Mustn't get any blood on me._

Edward knew instantly this was no normal human train of thought, frighteningly vivid and clear despite his inability to understand the meaning. He hesitated beneath the dogwoods, his gaze peering through the morning fog that had yet to burn off. He'd encountered a creature like himself in only one other instance, the scent so distinctive that he'd been unable to resist tracking it to its source. As he'd drawn near, however, the other vampire had sensed his approach and their thoughts had instantly turned to aggression and destruction. Edward had retreated before drawing any closer, unwilling to risk his existence to satisfy his curiosity.

But this was different. This was confusion and disorientation…and something else. He recalled his first days after waking to this life, the fight to understand what had happened to him, the sense that he was trapped in a dream he couldn't escape, the dawning reality of what he had become. With those memories in mind, he decided to cautiously approach.

He had taken no more than two steps when he was shocked to hear the thoughts transition.

_A stranger comes. Shall I have a brother?_

His eyes widened as his own image floated in the distant thoughts. Though it was only a smudge of a face, pale and half concealed by the brim of his soft cap, he knew it was his own.

While he knew he should be cautious, he couldn't help hurrying his pace, moving at an unnatural speed, ducking beneath the drooping branches of willows and swamp maples through the swirling mist.

His nostrils flared as he drew near, recognizing the unmistakable scent of blood. He swiftly realized it was not human, the composition too acrid and weak to be anything other than an animal. His mind was ablaze with questions, seized with a curiosity that would not have allowed him to turn back no matter the consequences.

But nothing could have prepared him for the scene that greeted his eyes when he reached the low clearing encircled by bowing willows. The grass was damp beneath his feet with the night's dew and the mist that still hung on the air, ghosting everything with tendrils of white. Pacing in a tight loop at the very center of the clearing was a tiny girl with a cap of messy, inky hair. Her figure was garbed in a loose white shroud that Edward would later realize was a hospital gown, combat boots on her small feet. At her side, clutched in one dainty hand, the body of a limp rabbit dangled. Scattered around the clearing were the discarded bodies of half a dozen other rabbits, throats neatly torn, eyes staring, blankly surprised.

Edward slowly approached the girl, his knuckles clenched around the straps of the rucksack hiked over his shoulders, golden eyes watchful as the girl continued to pace. To his shock, he saw his features crystalize in her mind, his lips moving as he spoke to her, framing words he had not yet said. The image shifted in her mind as his confusion took hold, blurring into a mist similar to the one that continued to drift around them.

Her small figure abruptly stilled. "How are you doing that?" she called across the field, her voice high and clear, the rabbit loosely hanging from her hand.

Edward replied, speaking at a normal volume he realized she had not yet learned she would be able to hear. "I was going to ask you the same thing."

"I do not know." She shook her head, black hair fanning with the movement. Her eyes focused on him, wide and richly red. "Can you tell me," The words were a plea, her gaze growing desperate. "The golden healer or the red-eyed soldier?"

Edward decided to take a chance, cautiously drawing near. "What do you mean?" he asked softly, sensing her anxiety, her torment at not knowing how to choose.

And then she showed him.

Two figures swirled in her thoughts, seeming to toss in a whirlwind of places and times. The first appeared to be a doctor; his white coat, the leather satchel that flashed in and out of his hand, and the stethoscope around his neck indicated his profession. Edward inhaled sharply at seeing the man's golden eyes, his gaze gentle as he looked down at an unseen patient in a narrow hospital bed. Interspersed among these images of ministration and healing were the ragged visions of a man on the run, feet bare, clothes stained and frayed. Golden curls framed a face that looked as if it might have once been tender and compassionate, but which was strained and tense wherever he appeared. And there was no mistaking the bright red of his irises as he ducked down an alley, following a shuffling vagrant with an intense focus that Edward sadly recognized.

He was silent for several long seconds as the pale girl regarded him with an expectant, hopeful stare. He could not form concrete thoughts, at a loss as he tried to make sense of her visions. Finally, he blurted, "How can a vampire practice as a doctor?"

He realized too late that these were the wrong words, her mouth parting with horror. "A vampire?" Her gaze fell to the rabbit still dangling from her fingers by its broken neck and her pale face abruptly crumpled.

"It was some time before I was able to assure her that she wasn't dreaming and that she wasn't a monster—that she could survive by feeding as she had clearly done earlier with the rabbit warren."

Bella can't help interrupting, softly asking, "How did she know?"

"When she was able to accept what she'd become, she told me she'd known it was what the healer would want." Edward's voice is grim, his hands shoved into the pockets of his light jacket, gaze still fixed on the ground.

Though Edward could tell that Alice felt a strong draw towards the wild, ragged man with the red irises dancing in her thoughts, she agreed that it was a far wiser choice to seek the doctor. "He's clearly living at peace among humans." Edward didn't add that he was entranced by how often the doctor actually looked happy, that he was filled with an intense curiosity as to whether such a thing was possible.

Alice could remember almost nothing from before she'd awoken beneath the willow tree, the images of a stern mother, a small farm, and a little girl she was certain was her sister blurry and indistinct. No names would come to mind to associate with those unclear memories, her narrow face growing pinched and strained whenever she tried to remember. Instead, she focused on the future, her gaze growing distant, hands limp at her sides. Edward watched with her, trying to pick out details to guide them; the doctor apppeared to be somewhere north, where there was snow on the ground, the narrow houses he visited to see patients often boasting nautical paraphernelia.

"We decided to go northeast, filching a dress from a line of laundry for Alice, and making our way to the train station in Picayune." His lips thin, unwilling to tell her of how they had stood at the fringes, watching the flow of people ambling in and out of the station: farmers on their way to the market in Gulfport, families traveling to New Orleans, young men in new suits departing for another semester of college. Alice's gaze had been carefully trained on her feet, hands limp at her sides, while Edward scanned the crowd, shuffling through the thoughts around him like a deck of cards.

"There." Alice's voice was soft, undetectable to any ears but his own. Edward saw her vision and acted quickly, stepping forward on light feet and crossing to the platform. A young woman in a poplin dress stood on the bottom step of the rail car waiting on the tracks, a fashionable hat perched on her head, arms extended to a docile servant.

"Did you remember to pack everything?" The servant stood amid a sea of trunks and soft valises, dusky features anxious as she handed a bag over to her employer.

"Yes, ma'am."

A porter approached ready to take the heavier trunks, but was stopped by a conductor in a crisp blue uniform. Neither saw Edward stoop and take one of the cloth valises, disappearing back into the station on swift feet. Alice had quickly ducked into the powder room with the stolen bag while Edward loitered near the exit, eyes cast to the ground, listening for any thoughts of suspicion or alarm. Time slid by, trains chugging in and out on the tangle of tracks, until Alice emerged, certain the future held no peril for them. A plain straw hat perched on her head, hiding the short hair that was still unusual in that part of the country. Her figure was still too small for any of the dresses so she continued to wear the loose, drop waisted frock in a dusty pink cotton that they'd stolen several miles from town from an unattended line of laundry. The gloves on her hands were too big as well but it was the best she could do to keep from appearing too young to travel on her own.

Edward couldn't help wondering if Alice's visions would hold true as the railway station clerk peered at them dubiously over his glasses. Through his thoughts Edward could see what an unlikely, anomalous pair they presented: the pale young man in travel-worn clothes, rough trousers and a patched jacket that had seen better days, shoes dusty and cracked, cap pulled so low over his brow that his eyes are simply a glint in the dim light of the station. Alice is equally fair but evermore strange, black hair messily shoved beneath the straw hat, the neckline of her dress gaping too low, revealing the white of the hospital gown she continued to wear as a makeshift slip; her hands perched on the counter, swallowed by the cream gloves that droop around her wrists, crimson eyes trained on her feet. "Two tickets to Chattanooga, please." Edward tried to speak with force but knew the effect was lessened by the evasive cast of his gaze.

Seconds passed that felt like an eternity before the clerk finally handed over the tickets. It was exactly half of the money that was in the valise, Alice's voice quiet once they were seated on the train. " The servant won't be penalized for it. I promise." Visions flickered of the frantic woman in the poplin dress arriving in New Orleans, panicking as she failed to find the crucial bag that carried her money. Edward saw her pretty features red with rage as she railed at one of the porters, certain someone on the train had stolen it.

"How long did it take you to find Carlisle?" Bella's voice breaks into the memories, her sandwich long gone, her expression faintly sad.

"Four months," Edward shortly replies. They'd used the other half of the money to finance their search, ducking into speakeasies where back room poker games fell victim to Edward's skills, winning only so long as suspicion remained dormant. Trains took them further northeast, watchful of Alice's visions, looking for any clue that might reveal where the doctor resided. She had insisted on staying in rooming houses despite the concern roused by such young people traveling alone. "We settled on the story of siblings traveling to our grandmother's funeral. That usually stopped any further questions."

Bella nods, her imagination conjuring a Dickensian image of two orphans adrift in the Jazz Age, bedraggled and lost, seeking they knew not what.

She jumps at the seemingly loud ring of a cell phone, a modern intrustion on her vision of flappers in seamed stockings and cloche hats, speakeasies with gloomy back rooms for cards and craps, and Model Ts bouncing down gray streets.

Edward already has the phone at his ear, his voice brusque. "Yes. Everything clear at home?" He is silent a moment before he asks, brows drawing together, "And have you seen anything?" Bella realizes it must be Alice, that he would ask this question of no one else. "Alright," his voice is grudging, amber eyes falling to his lap. "Yes. Fine. Thanks." Then the call is over, the phone sliding back into his pocket in one smooth movement.

"Alice checking in?" Bella quietly asks.

Edward nods. "They've heard nothing from the Quileutes and she hasn't seen anything as of yet." His voice is grim, as if he knows it is only a matter of time.

"And Jasper…?" Bella asks, unwilling to think of Jake or the Clearwaters, suddenly longing to understand more about the golden haired man Alice had envisioned from the beginning.

Edward's gaze remains on the ground, his features tense. "He's adjusting as well as he can." He pauses. "We explained who we were, how we survive—and he said he wanted to try, if only for Alice."

Bella echoes his words, trying to understand. "For Alice?"

Edward's eyes finally rise, something darting across his expression that she can't identify. "The connection between them."

Though she knows of Alice's visions, she can't help her disbelief, protesting, "But they've only just met."

Edward's expression softens, his gaze drifting away. "Is it not like that for humans sometimes?"

Bella starts at hearing him say the word aloud, acknowledging what he is not. Her voice falters, stuttering, "In stories—maybe…but I've never—" She then remembers Leah and Jake, Sam and Emily, bonded practically since childhood.

Edward continues, "And given Alice's...ability." His voice hesitates over the final word.

Bella finishes the thought for him. "She's seen it."

Edward nods. "As changeable as her visions can sometimes be, this one never faltered. She simply needed to find him."

Bella doesn't know why she shivers at these words and has no time to examine the feeling as a homeless man totters across the park, making a beeline for the only other bench. Edward's hand is at her elbow. "We should go," he says shortly.

That night Bella dreams of Europa, pale arms looped around the white bull's neck. Only, as often happens in dreams, the arms are suddenly her own, her body cradled against the bowed back of the bull. She presses her cheek to the crook where neck slopes into shoulder, lost in the sensation of sleek skin over powerful muscles. She can hear voices calling from the shore, desperate pleas a blur to her ears, but she does not lift her head to look back.

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><p><em>The Rape of Europa: artic (dot) edu  aic / collections / artwork / 111645_


	23. Break with the Deadening Life

Thank you so much for all of your reviews. New chapters on Saturdays for the time being.

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><p>"<em>Why shouldn't she break with the deadening life where she had got into a groove, and would go on in it, getting more and more-worse than unhappy-apathetic til she died?" <em>

_Where Angels Fear to Tread_

**twenty-two**

The restaurant is bathed in gloom. The checkered curtains before the windows facing the street are drawn, the pendants above dimmed to the faintest glow; only the flame of the candle on each table provides any illumination, a flickering halo barely reaching the menu next to Bella's plate.

She is reminded of the same gloom that has shadowed their hotel room for the past two days, lamps glowing through the daylight hours, heavy drapes drawn over the windows. "The forecast calls for sunshine through the weekend," Edward had shortly explained, eyes cast to the carpet. She had feigned brightness, shrugging and offering to remain with him in the suite. Her assumption was that they would read, she might dig through the minibar when hunger struck, and perhaps they would settle in with a movie when weary of their books. But Edward had other ideas.

"What did you think of Phoenix?"

She had been too startled to hide her surprise at this sudden question, eyes darting from her book to find his pale face looking towards her inquisitively. "It was..." Banal words had crossed her mind and a sudden reluctance clenched in her gut, worried he'd find her boring. "It was hot and dry…and contrarily freezing as well with everything being overly air conditioned." Her gaze had fallen to her lap, wishing she had something more interesting to say.

"Did you like it there?" Edward persisted.

Bella had shaken her head. "It was…impersonal." It's the best she can do, unable to explain how disconnected she had felt from her classmates in high school.

"So you prefer Seattle—the northwest?" Edward asked. She could hear the frustration in his tone and wondered at his train of thought. Then it suddenly hit her, her heart seizing in her chest. He couldn't hear her thoughts so he was trying to discover everything he'd been unable to ask her directly in the context of their sessions. Her lips had parted as she gazed blindly down at her lap, filled with the chilling fear that once he unearths all there it to know about her, and how utterly uninteresting she truly is, he won't have any interest in her any longer.

"I do," she'd finally weakly replied, knowing she could remain silent no longer.

Bella fingers the menu, pebbled paper in stark white, a single cream ribbon holding the pages together at the center crease. Her gaze casts up to find Edward examining the menu closely, dark brows drawn together in a faint frown. Her lips quirk at the thought of the menu including something he might find appetizing, fawn and rabbit and fox instead of risotto, spaghetti Bolognese and oyster fusilli.

"You have such a Mona Lisa smile." His voice intrudes on the thought, low, softly amused, and curious.

Bella ponders for a moment before speaking. "I do feel as if I'm in on a very great secret," she finally admits.

"I see." The words are abrupt, Edward's gaze shifting away as his lips thin. Bella's eyes drop to her lap, brow furrowing in turn, wondering how she's misstepped. What did she say to so suddenly darken his mood? Is it the reminder of what he is, the difference between them, that has erased all humor from his demeanor? Her hands fist in her lap, suddenly frustrated that they keep doing this, dodging and ducking words and conversations, exhausted by the evasions, sudden shifts in mood, silences that seem heavy with meaning that neither of them break.

But she knows that she can't fault him for this, not when she has been just as reluctant to reveal things herself. That had been why she had not protested when he insisted that morning that she go out and enjoy the second day of sunshine.

"There's no reason for you to stay here." She had longed to protest, to tell him that he is reason enough—but her fear of his questions and the reason behind them had left the words unspoken. She had descended from their suite onto the Chicago streets, hands jammed into the pockets of her hoodie, eyes cast to the ground. The blare of horns and the burning scent of car exhaust filled her with instant regret that she had not stayed, her mind immediately filled with the thought of him, all alone in the dimly lit gloom of shadowed hotel room.

"Have you seen the painting?" The words jerk forth haltingly, Bella's gaze reluctantly rising from her lap, embarrassed at this forced attempt to make conversation. She is reminded of their first sessions, the obvious efforts on her part to draw him out.

But Edward's expression relaxes, dark eyes meeting her own as he nods. "We lived in England for a time—seeing Carlisle's old stomping grounds."

Bella's brows lift. "I didn't realize he was English. He doesn't have an accent at all."

Edward's smile is wry. "He's had a long time to lose it."

Bella presses her lips together with the realization that, given their immortality, Carlisle could very well be centuries older than Edward. She unknowingly pales at the thought, uncertain her mind can grasp such a truth.

"Have you decided on any courses?" The waitress interrupts, saving them from the lengthening silence.

"Absolutely," Edward smoothly replies, raising his gaze to the woman's smiling face. Even in the weak light of the candle, Bella can see that the gold surrounding his pupils is nearly gone, swallowed by inky blackness.

"And you?" Bella starts, realizing she didn't hear Edward order. Her gaze flits over the menu and she blurts out the first dish her eyes land upon.

After the waitress has swished away, Edward somehow picks up the trail of their conversation. "Have you been abroad?"

"I've only been to Mexico and Canada." A flush hovers at her jawline, suddenly feeling the depth of her inexperience next to him.

Edward's gaze brightens, seeming not to notice. "I think you'd like Europe. The history, the architecture—it's beautiful." He is mesmerizing when engaged in a topic without hidden pitfalls, eyes glowing as he describes London and Paris and Berlin. Bella barely notices when a the sommelier appears to fill their glasses with wine and only realizes she's drank the entire thing when the waitress returns to the table with their entrees.

After placing the plates before them, she gestures to their glasses and asks if they'd like to see the wine list again. "Oh, certainly," Edward calmly replies, and, after the waitress has turned away, switches their glasses so it appears he has drank his portion.

Bella wants to protest, lifting a hand to her cheek and feeling the tell-tale warmth there. It is no wonder she's flushed; she never drinks. She silently examines Edward's face, the planes of his cheekbones, the curve of his lips, the low lids of his eyes all cast into shadow by the candle light. She is reminded of how the bedside lamp throws his profile into relief as he reads to her, voice a low lull as he turns the pages.

"Why did you ask me to dinner?" The words burst forth without thought and Bella quickly hides her embarrassment by picking up her fork and spearing a piece of pasta on the plate before her.

Edward's reply is not immediate, the words hesitant. "I wanted to take you out properly."

Bella's face warms further at his words. She had been unsurprised to find him eager to go out after she returned from her long ramble around the city; after all, he'd been cooped up in the suite all day. It was only when she was beneath the spray of water in the shower that the thought occurred to her: this was the first time they'd done more than order room service or steal a quick bite from a nearby deli. It was equally unsurprising when he insisted she leave her wallet behind.

"Thank you," she quietly responds.

There is another silence but it is not awkward, Edward's hand rising and resting on the white table cloth across from her own. His fingers extend, tentatively touching her curled hand. "There's no need to thank me." His features shift, lips twisting. "I know this all began so strangely…and that you've been forced into these current circumstances—"

"I wasn't forced!" Bella protests, eyes widening before her brows lower. "This was my choice—to come—you gave me the option—"

"Here's the wine list, sir!"

Bella could nearly sigh at the return of the waitress but Edward appears unfazed, lifting his gaze and quickly ordering something with a French name that she doesn't recognize. The waitress lingers, grinning down at him, burbling something about pairing a Muscat with dessert.

Edward responds nonchalantly, "Yes, let's plan on seeing the desserts when we finish the second course."

"The second course?" Bella bleats, glancing down at her half-finished plate of pasta.

Edward smiles widely, teeth flashing as he grins at her across the table. "You'll indulge me, won't you?" There is almost no inflection with the final word, the statement barely a question.

"Do I have a choice?" Bella can't help smiling back, her pulse fluttering.

"So—a second course with wine?" The waitress interrupts, her voice flat.

Edward's voice is cool as he returns his attention to her. "Yes, the wine—and we'll see the menu again, please." He looks back to Bella, his voice dismissive. "Thank you."

Bella can't resist a giggle, covering her mouth with her hand as the waitress strides away. "You shouldn't do that, you know."

"Do what?" Edward asks, brows quirking.

"Be all…" Bella gestures in his direction, making circling motions with one hand, "charming." Her lips twist, struggling for the words. "A tease."

Edward's laugh is loud, rocking back in his chair. "Did you just call me a tease?"

Bella nods with false confidence, hiding her blush by taking another sip of wine. "You said yourself—" She squints, trying to think of his phrasing at the airport. "Obsequiousness." She gestures again. "Mr. Smooth." She recalls the forget-me-nots tied by his hands, wondering what he'd intended in giving them to her.

"Hardly," Edward snorts, his expression turning serious. "You know how I feel about that. It's all shadow play—there's nothing genuine there."

The words escape her mouth before she can think. "Is there something genuine with me?"

Edward's expression abruptly shifts, all humor dying away as his eyes fix on her face. "You know it is."

Bella's gaze falls, looking down to the dark wine in her glass. "I don't know anything," she mutters.

"You know more than anyone else," Edward quietly replies. "Besides my family."

Bella can only nod, drinking deeply from the glass.

She has no idea of the hour when Edward finally pays the bill and is astonished to feel her legs are like rubber when she rises to stand. Edward is somehow at her side, his arm around her waist, and she gazes up at him with wide eyes. "I can walk," she tries to protest, conscious of the faint scent of him, the unyielding feel of his body next to hers.

"Just to the cab," Edward quietly insists, a mixture of exasperation and laughter evident in his tone.

"You got me drunk," she protests.

"You didn't have to finish the bottle." His smile is crooked and she feels her heart twist at seeing him in such a good humor, unable to believe that her silliness could be the cause.

In the darkness of the cab she can't resist leaning into him, her head against his shoulder, sighing as her eyes sink shut. For a moment she can pretend she hasn't any cares or concerns, that they aren't in this strange city avoiding outcomes she didn't believe existed a week ago.

They are at the hotel all too soon and Bella realizes she drifted off with the rocking of the cab, mumbling an apology that Edward brushes off as he half-carries her to the elevator.

"I never drink," she murmurs, lifting her eyes to the pale planes of his face, grateful for the strong arm around her waist.

"I can tell," Edward smiles down at her.

In the suite, he guides her through the French doors to the bedroom, flicking on the lights with his free hand. She feels a sudden tension in his muscles, the arm around her waist like stone as he stops before the freshly made bed. His voice is hesitant when he speaks. "Can you…change? On your own?"

Bella can feel the heat in her face like a fire, suddenly suffused with confusion and shame. She lurches away from his grasp and is unsurprised when he lets her go, tottering towards the bathroom. "I'm fine," she mutters, barely refraining from slamming the door behind her.

She braces herself against the sink before dragging her hands over her face, heart throbbing in her chest. He'd sounded so dismayed, as if the thought of helping her undress filled him with abhorrence. Has she so misunderstood him? She thinks of his hand clasping her own, running with her through the hotel lobby. She thinks of his fingers against the bare flesh of her inner arm, guiding her through the airport. Is it all just some gentlemanly instinct, left over from a bygone time? Bella shakes her head, remembering his response when she'd asked him his favorite flower, recalling the meaning. Or had he only been trying to tell her of his immortality, with no accompanying sentiment?

She shakes her head again, squeezing her eyes shut as her thoughts loop in circles, unable to land on any one truth. Inhaling, she struggles for resolve, aware she can't stay in the bathroom forever. She drags her hands past her closed lids and through her hair, pushing the dark tendrils back from her face as she lifts her gaze to the mirror. Her pupils shrink, adjusting to the light, and she sees a pale face reflected, eyes wide and utterly lost.

Is she so unattractive? She examines herself as she's never done before, forcing herself to focus through the haze of alcohol. The oval face in the mirror is symmetrical, unblemished, cheeks and throat tinted with the rosy flush that so often stains her skin. She trails a finger over her bottom lip, wondering if he'd prefer if she wore cosmetics, if she heightened the shape of her eyes, the length of her lashes, the color of her skin. She runs her hands down her waist to her hips as she wonders what he finds appealing.

Or is he above all of it? With as long as he's lived, do such base, human things even appeal to him? The face in the mirror now appears stricken, dominated by too-wide eyes, unable to contemplate what that might mean for her.

With an exasperated huff, she spins away from the mirror, unwilling to dwell on any of it any longer. She swiftly changes into the shorts and tank top that are folded next to the fresh towels left by housekeeping. She does not again glance in the mirror to see the wild tangle of her hair, the heightened flush still evident in her cheeks, the heaving of her chest due to her agitation; she only wants to get away from her thoughts, her worries, flicking off the light and throwing open the door.

Edward is already reclined upon the bed in his own pajamas, a book in his hands. "Are you alright?" he quietly asks.

Bella can only stiffly nod, crossing to the bed with downcast eyes before clumsily climbing onto the mattress. She feels too ungraceful to try to thrash beneath the covers and simply relaxes into the softness of blankets and pillows, her eyes sinking shut. Edward's voice, soft and low, intrudes on the darkness behind her lids. "I thought I'd read but I can go if you're—"

"No, please," Bella instantly protests, eyes flaring wide. He is gazing down at her, half of his face cast into shadow by the lamplight, his expression inscrutable. "Please read," she whispers, fingers curling into the blankets, resisting the urge to reach up and touch his cheek. She wills the pounding of her heart to slow.

Edward hesitates but soon the low hum of his voice is filling the room. "The division of one day to the next must be one of the most profound peculiarities of life on this planet. It is, on the whole, a merciful arrangement. We are not condemned to sustained flights of being, but are constantly refreshed by little holidays from ourselves. We are intermittent creatures, always falling to little ends and rising to little new beginnings."

Her breathing grows slow and even, soothed by his voice, by this routine they've established in the few days they've had together.

"Our soon-tired consciousness is meted out in chapters, and that the world will look quite different tomorrow is, for both our comfort and our discomfort, usually true. How marvelously too night matches sleep, sweet image of it, so neatly apportioned to our need."

Her fingers loosen their grip of the blanket, the tension in her muscles sinking away as Edward reads aloud.

"Angels must wonder at these beings who fall so regularly out of awareness into a fantasm-invested dark. How our frail identities survive these chasms no philosopher has ever been able to explain."

The room drifts into silence, the only sound her steady breathing and the distant, muted rush of traffic fourteen floors below. When she feels him shift on the bed, preparing to leave her for the night, her eyes fly open, her hand shooting to his arm.

"Don't go." Bella is surprised by the desperate note in her voice, brown eyes falling to where her fingers curve around his wrist.

Edward doesn't move but she knows her meager strength isn't keeping him in place. She rises up on her elbow, tightening her grip. "Bella," his voice is a reproof and she knows she won't be able to bear it if he condescendingly tells her she should get some sleep.

"Am I like Alice to you?" The words tumble from her lips like water spilling from a glass, voicing the supposition she hadn't even fully admitted to herself.

Edward's brows instantly draw together, scowling down at her. "What do you mean?"

Bella inhales, unable to meet his gaze. "Do you see me like a sister?" It is the only way she can make sense of all he's shared with her, his interest in her—that he views her the same way he viewed the lost, bewildered girl he'd stumbled upon in a Mississippi field.

"No!" She can't help starting at the vehemence with which he says the words, her hand jerking from his wrist. "No," Edward repeats himself, his posture shifting, his weight sinking back into the bed. "Of course not!"

She frowns at him, wondering how he can think this should be so obvious. "Then why…" She can't quite bring herself to frame the thought with words, lips twisting as she returns his frustrated stare.

"Because—" Edward runs a pale hand through his hair, the book forgotten on the night stand. His gaze falls to his lap. "Because none of us are as strong as Carlisle," he roughly admits.

It takes a moment for his meaning to sink in but when it does, Bella straightens, lips parting with wonder. The words are a whisper, expelled on a breath. "Esme was human with him once."

_They took us in with no question, gave no thought to the danger we presented_. The statement takes on an entirely different meaning knowing that when Alice and Edward finally found the golden healer…that they could have been a very real threat to Esme's life, that she had been human and vulnerable at the time. A thousand questions instantly spiral through Bella's mind, her thoughts stuttering over the idea that Esme was once warm and soft, skin flushed with blood, the irises of her eyes colored something other than gold.

"Yes," Edward softly admits, brows still low over his eyes. "But, Bella…" His hand is in his hair again, tugging at the burnished strands. "What I am…those feelings of desire…" Her heart skips, glorying in this word, this admission. "They're mixed for me." She struggles to come down from her cloud, from the knowledge that she hasn't misunderstood him. Her pulse is fluttering, exhilarated, but she tries to absorb what he is telling her. He's clearly tormented by this confession, features twisted, one hand thrust in his hair as the other fists in the sheets. "I just don't know…"

Bella's head tilts, asking the first question that comes to mind. "You mean you've never…"

Edward's gaze darts away and the silence stretches out for eternities, her heart thudding against her ribs as she waits for him to speak. His voice is a whisper when he admits, "Not with a human."

It is as if someone has dumped a bucket of ice water over her head, goose bumps abruptly bursting across her flesh. All questions about Esme dissipate with the knowledge that there has been someone…someone otherworldly like him, cold and strong and deadly. She is filled with an intense curiosity at the same time that she wants to demand he take back the words, take back the admission, somehow turn back the clock so that she will still be ignorant of this creature's existence.

But she can't bring herself to speak. Instead, she rises onto her knees and throws one leg over his hips, straddling him. It is the only way she can think to erase what he has just told her from her mind, to make it the two of them again. No one else.

Edward rocks back into the headboard, staring up at her with stunned eyes. Bella leans forward, hands braced on her thighs, tentative, allowing him to turn away, to resist. But he doesn't move, frozen as her lips barely brush his own, the sensation smooth and sweet, his breath cool against her skin. She withdraws the smallest fraction of an inch before dipping forward again, deepening the kiss, pulling his bottom lip between her own as she's longed to do these past days.

Edward's groan is a deep rumble within his chest. She feels his hands settle on her hips and can't help the surge of delight that flares in her chest as he returns the kiss, lips moving against her own, slick and cool all at once. "Bella," he murmurs her name, one hand sliding down her hip to the bare skin of her thigh, fingers pressing into flesh.

Her hands rise to his shoulders, his hair, tangling in the messy locks. A gasp escapes her lips as his tongue thrusts into her mouth, unable to stop herself from shifting forward, longing to be near him. Another groan sounds from his throat as her breasts press to his chest, his arms rising to wrap around her waist, pulling her impossibly closer.

Bella stills as she feels the evidence of his arousal, hard and insistent, unmistakable despite the barrier of her cotton shorts and his flannel pants. Edward's lips drag from her own, burying his face in her throat as he senses her distraction, his arms still tightly wrapped around her frame. His voice is choked against her neck, "I'm sorry—I don't—"

Bella shakes her head, hoping he can sense the movement, her hands drifting down his nape to the muscles of his back. "Edward…please," she murmurs. She lands a kiss upon the angle of his cheekbone, brushing his hair back from his temple. As he remains still, the beat of her heart sounding against his ribcage, she struggles to think how to return him to the abandon of only a moment before. Inhaling, she decides to risk being bold.

Slowly, she shifts her weight, rocking forward, pressing herself against the hardness still evident against the juncture of her thighs. The whoosh of air that escapes his lips against the sensitive skin of her neck is her reward; she is still for a moment but when he doesn't push her away or resist, she rocks forward again, more forcefully this time, her own body warming with the sensation. "Edward," she whispers, hands pressing into his back.

Dampness slicks against her throat, his lips moving over the skin there. Bella tilts her head and feels his fingers tangle in the hair cascading down her back, pressing her to him…down, forward, melding her body to his. "Edward," she whispers again, eyes closed as the sensation of his tongue against her neck, lapping, sucking, sends heat coursing to her core.

The world abruptly spins, her body bouncing on the mattress, bereft of his embrace. Her gaze darts around the room, trying to orient herself, and she realizes Edward is against the far wall, eyes wide and wild, hands pressing into the door behind him. It takes her several seconds to realize he is frozen, chest still, holding his breath to keep temptation at bay.

Her gaze falls to her lap, hiding her shock. "I'm sorry," she whispers, the only thing she can think to say.

Edward's response is an angry expulsion of air. "No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—" His groan is frustrated and she lifts her eyes to see him covering his face with his hands. "I do want—but it's been a week since I've fed—"

Bella doesn't realize she has stopped breathing, shock continuing to wash over her in waves. Despite what she knows of his past, despite what she knows of his true nature, he has never once intimated that he could be a danger to her. She thinks of his lips on her throat, a hand unconsciously rising to the dampness there, and realizes it is directly over her pulse. For the first time, a tendril of fear curls through her chest.

She sucks in a breath, filled with stubborn resolve. Her voice is insistent when she speaks. "You could never hurt me."

"You don't know that," he growls, nearly bent at the waist, pale hands covering his features.

Bella is silent a moment, her voice quiet when she finally speaks, trying to understand. "Did Alice see me…in danger?"

"She can't see everything!" he argues, hands falling away, eyes blazing. "And the future can change in an instant!"

"Edward," she begins again, leaning forward. "I think you're worrying needlessly."

He glowers across the room at her. "I don't think you worry enough!" The last time he'd held a human body so close, flesh at his lips, all heat and softness in his arms, he had done so with the intent to kill. While he has experienced the proximity of humans in all these long years, suffering through cramped flights, crowded classrooms, and long queues, it is an entirely different affair to have Bella in his lap, her mouth against his. He shudders, eyes squeezing shut, unable to contemplate the thought of what could happen to her.

"Didn't Alice see…us…?" her voice is a shy murmur, fading away, unable to voice the hope she feels for a future that could still slip through her fingers.

Edward shakes his head, unable to meet her gaze. "She saw moments…but it was foggy—uncertain." His lips tighten, thinking of his own hope and fear when Alice had revealed the vision to him, his pale hands framing Bella's upturned face, lowering his lips to her own.

"Can't I want…" Bella goes on, trying to find the words. "Can't I want what she sees?" She doesn't realize she is holding her breath, remembering Alice's claim that Edward would have refused to come to that first session had he known the consequences.

Edward's voice is tormented. "Yes—but I don't—it's not—"

At his stuttered, tortured words, she reaches out a hand, her expression supplicating and consoling all at once. To her shock, he doesn't hesitate, crossing the room in two long strides and climbing back onto the bed. She touches his hair, gazing into his eyes, feeling what he feels: the restraint, the desire, the fear. "It's hard to know…" her gaze falls, her hand dropping to her lap. "The in-between steps."

Edward nods, swallowing, his gaze falling. He leans forward, lowering himself to the covers, his hands reaching for her waist. She leans back against the headboard, unable to resist a sigh of satisfaction as he lowers his head to her lap. His voice is a low, continuing her thought. "How to get to what she sees."

Bella inhales at the communion of their thoughts, gazing down at his profile, cheek pressed to her thigh. Silently, she lowers a hand to his hair, stroking the messy strands, basking in this moment, this connection.


	24. A Dream

Thank you so much for reading, for reviewing, and for recommending elsewhere.

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><p><em>Italy was coming at last. The Cockney Signora and her works had vanished like a bad dream.<em>

_A Room with a View_

**twenty-three**

Bella endeavors to remain still, muscles tensed, features tight with concentration, as she lies upon the bed. It takes all of her restraint and self-control to leave her hands at her sides, fingers curled into fists, nails digging into her palms. She feels unusually aware of every sensation: the warmth of the bulb in the bedside lamp aglow these past few hours, the soft weave of the blanket beneath her body, the shift of her clothing against her skin as Edward's hands circle her waist, inching the fabric of her top ever higher.

Bella is frozen, unmoving, because she desperately fears him fleeing again. The thrill she feels, electricity shooting beneath her skin, at the mere touch of his hands to her bare waist, is more than worth the sacrifice of not being able to touch him back.

She can't recall exactly how they'd shifted, transitioned, to these postures. One moment she was stroking his hair, gazing down longingly at the arch of his neck, and then he'd risen, his dark gaze urging her back until she is supine, his body looming over her own. Bella can see the fierce focus in the lines around his mouth, the hardness of his stare fixed like a laser on the bare skin of her belly. His hands circle her waist, in turns the barest flutter against her skin, then pressing flush, as if unable to resist this deeper caress.

With each curl of his fingers into her flesh, his hands shift higher, slowly revealing inch after inch of creamy skin. Bella catches her bottom lip with her teeth, resisting the urge to suck in a breath or reach up a hand, uncertain what movement on her part could send him away.

She speaks without thinking, trying to distract herself, to keep herself from moving. "Why did you follow me that day in Port Angeles?" His gaze darts to her own, black eyes vague and surprised, as if she has drawn him from some dream. But his hands have not left her skin.

"What makes you think I followed you?" A sly smile tilts his lips and she is instantly reminded of the many instances that he'd teased her during their sessions.

She exhales forcefully, but her exasperation is forced; she has to resist smiling, lips twisting. "You can't convince me it was a coincidence you were there, Edward."

His lids fall, concealing his gaze. Several seconds pass before his hands shift down to her hips, leaning back with the movement. "Alice saw…a fight." He shakes his head, eyes squeezing shut as he recalls the flash of the blade, the horrifying image of Bella's limp body falling to the ground. "She was certain you were fine—she could see you at home…after. But I didn't want to take the chance." He'd held that scene in his head during the entire frantic drive to Port Angeles, Bella's figure reclining in the armchair in her father's living room, her features cast into shadow by the lamp glowing down on the book in her hands.

Bella's reply is hesitant, brows quirking. "So you weren't…trying to stop me?"

Edward's eyes lift, meeting her own. "From reading the file?" He shakes his head ruefully. "I knew that was impossible." His hands slip up, returning to the bare skin of her belly. Bella inhales at the chill of his touch, resisting the urge to shift, to respond.

"Because of the sun." She remembers the glare of it through the windshield, taking off her jacket after her interminable walk through town, too warm beneath its weight.

He nods. "But even knowing what you were going to discover…I couldn't let anything happen to you." It had been a risk, ducking from the shadows to catch her fainting figure, but one he'd been willing to take.

"I was so rude to you after," Bella whispers, wishing she could touch his face and caress him in return, apologize for how distant she'd been.

Edward shakes his head, strands of hair falling over his forehead. "Not rude. Just shocked." He slowly leans forward, as if testing her, giving her the chance to protest. Bella remains utterly still. His cheek comes to rest against her chest, cool even through the fabric of her tank top. "It was no more than I could expect so soon after you'd learned the truth."

"But it wasn't the truth," Bella protests, brow furrowing as she gazes up at the ceiling. "It was a misunderstanding—that you couldn't correct."

She can feel the shift of movement, his head shaking against her chest. "It isn't as if the truth is any better, Bella."

She sucks in a breath, longing to find the words to prove him wrong. She worries she'll sound naive, but finally forges ahead, the words bursting forth. "But you make a choice to live as you do. Doesn't that make all the difference?"

There is a note of bitterness to his soft laugh. "You sound like Carlisle."

Though he hasn't answered her question, she does not press him, allowing him to change the subject—as she had so often during their sessions. "Tell me about him."

Edward's head lifts and she sees his expression shift, softening, the respect and admiration he holds for his father figure evident in his dark eyes. The words come slowly, his gaze fixed on where his hands meet her skin. "His father was a pastor, a reformer." Edward can see the memory as clearly as if it were his own, the black-garbed figure bent over the pulpit, railing against popery and idolatry. "He was never satisfied with the steps the church took to eradicate what he saw as threats," Edward's lips twist as he explains, "Roman Catholics, witches, vampires."

Bella's frown of confusion is instantaneous, her voice faint as she echoes his words. "Roman Catholics?"

Edward's tone is deliberately casual, hoping to mitigate the shock of the truth. "Especially following Cromwell's death. After all, King Charles' wife was Catholic and no one fully trusted that he didn't intend to return England to the Roman church."

Bella inhales deeply but forces herself to remain still, focusing on the sensation of the breath in her lungs, the warmth of the bedside lamp, the coolness of Edward's fingers at her waist. When she exhales, features calm, he continues. "Carlisle's father led…hunts against these threats. Sometimes he succeeded in capturing someone—a priest secretly giving the sacrament—but more often than not, the person was entirely innocent of whatever accusations were levied against them."

He pauses, his expression growing solemn. "Carlisle took over these hunts and actually managed to track a vampire to the London sewers."

Though she knows her imagination is likely inaccurate at best, Bella's thoughts immediately flit to images and pictures, trying to visualize what he's telling her; she struggles to reconcile the golden-haired doctor who she'd met only once before, casually garbed in khakis and a sweater, with half-remembered textbook illustrations, seventeenth century paintings, historical reenactments glimpsed on television. A hazy image of Edward's father, dressed in knee breeches and buckled shoes, forms in her mind. She thinks of him raising an arm, lantern in hand, illuminating dank sewers in pursuit of a creature people of her era no longer believed in.

"In the chase," Edward's voice is grim, "Carlisle was bitten."

Bella speaks, the words breathless. "So he knew what he was going to become."

Edward nods. "Unlike me or Alice, he was aware of what was happening to him. He hid in a cellar and when he emerged…he tried to end his own life." Bella hears the sentiment Edward does not speak—that in this way, he and his father are similar.

Sorrow clenches in her chest, unable to feel anything but pity for these poor people, lost to what they had become—seemingly condemned by it. "But clearly he didn't succeed," she prompts Edward.

He shakes his head. "No. He was in hiding after multiple failed attempts, and found himself delirious in a herd of deer. He was able to…satisfy his thirst and realized there was another way." Edward's lips briefly press together. "Unlike me, he did not live as an itinerant vagrant, contributing nothing. Instead, he decided to put his heightened skills to use."

She already suspects the answer but she wants to hear his explanation. "There's more than speed and hearing." It is a statement rather than a question as she has grown certain over their time in Chicago that there are fathoms she doesn't know.

Edward nods reluctantly, speaking slowly. "I can hear your heartbeat." At these words, she feels it begin to thump in her chest, heat creeping up her throat at the knowledge that though he has not been able to hear her thoughts, he has sensed her agitation. "When your breath quickens in fear or nervousness—I can never tell which—"

"Nervousness, usually," Bella blurts without thinking. She knows she should fear him. She knows, after everything she's seen and learned, that he is dangerous. Yet it seems impossible that he could hurt her—at least, not physically. He is too vulnerable, too volatile…too human.

She gazes up at his face, watching the small smile playing across his lips, before his head lowers, his lips falling briefly, far too briefly, to hers.

He goes on and Bella can no longer tell if he's seeking to distract her or himself. "His change, and later realization, occurred at an inopportune time. The plague had returned to London and Carlisle found himself at a loss, immune yet unable to help." Edward's dark gaze is focused inward, recalling the glimpses of memories Carlisle has not always been able to conceal: door after door marked with the words _Lord have mercy upon us_, the pits of open mass graves, the figures of exhausted pastors going from house to house to administer last rites, the corpses piled in carts. "It was then he determined to help—however he could."

A small smile flits across Bella's lips and Edward's brows quirk in curiosity. Before he can speak to ask her thoughts, she admits, "You once told me he kept his texts to follow how the medical profession has changed over time. If only I'd known what you meant," she pauses, trying to think of the most extreme examples. "Bloodletting and leeches—and who knows what else."

Edward nods. "Carlisle studied at night, trying to make sense of all of the conflicting information available—and what he himself knew didn't make sense. He could hear a patient's heart weaken, their fever and infection intensify, after they had been bled. As science improved, he was often on the front edge, implementing new practices, technologies."

Bella's voice is soft, "You respect him a great deal."

Edward nods, his brow furrowing. "He finds meaning. He somehow finds satisfaction with this life, if you can call it that."

Bella frowns in turn, wondering at his bitterness. Seeing her confusion, he admits, "In my worst moments, I've thought that he's simply atoning for all the lives our kind have taken." He shakes his head. "But I know in reality he's simply a good person trying to give back to the best of his abilities."

Bella's voice is quiet. "You've all endured so much."

Edward's tone remains bitter. "We defy nature by our very existence. Perhaps endurance is simply justice. We shouldn't exist."

Bella can't help protesting, "But if you'd died…" Her voice trails away, unable to form the question, uncertain she could handle his response. Would he trade having lived a normal life a hundred years ago if it would mean they would never have met?

The ring of the phone jars her from these thoughts, nearly jerking from his grasp. Edward is gone and swiftly back at her side, a rare demonstration of his abilities for a purpose other than preventing harm. She blinks, trying to adjust to his sudden disappearance and reappearance, bent over her one moment and now perched on the edge of the bed with the cell at his ear. Edward is already speaking, seeming not to notice her reaction.

"What is it?" A tinny voice sounds on the line but Bella is unable to determine who it might be. Edward goes on. "Did they threaten you?" His voice is suddenly furious and Bella rises to a seated position, a chill coursing over her skin. "We weren't the ones who broke the treaty!" His tone is vehement, his free hand fisting in the blankets beneath him. Bella longs to speak but his expression has darkened, brows low, eyes glittering with anger.

The other voice speaks for some time before Edward interjects, "We don't _have_ to come back." Bella straightens, wondering at his meaning, her pulse racing with increasing confusion and fear. "No, I know." He paused. "You know that's not my intention!" His frustration is evident, knuckles white where he clenches the phone. "Fine." He jerks the phone from his ear and hits a button on its screen.

Alice's voice suddenly rings out over the speakerphone. "—this concerns her, too. It's not just your decision to make."

Bella's voice is husky with fear, staring down at the phone as the anger and frustration in Edward's features is too much to absorb. "What's happened, Alice?"

"The Quileutes finally kicked up a fuss—as I suspected they would." Her voice is wry but even over the inadequate speaker, Bella can tell there is concern and worry underlying the words. "We sorely missed Edward. It would have helped immensely to know their thoughts."

"Regardless, it couldn't have been a mystery that they were agitated," Edward's voice is short.

"And how," Alice acknowledges. "I think Billy and Jake were intending to give us a chance to get out of Dodge before they openly attacked—"

Bella gasps, unable to stop herself from interrupting. "Why would they attack you?"

Alice's reply is surprisingly tainted with amused exasperation. "I'm getting to that part." Her inhale is audible over the line. "Though they didn't admit it outright, it sounds like they've repeatedly been by your house and noticed you were missing." Bella's eyes lift guiltily to Edward's tensed features, realizing she should have admitted the extent to which the Quileutes had been watching out for her. "I think they could see we were telling the truth when we said you weren't dead."

Bella is shaking her head, astonished Jake and Billy would intervene on her behalf—and risk such danger to themselves given how she knows they perceive the Cullens to be such a menace. But Edward is speaking before she can, his voice humorously bitter. "It mustn't have sat much better that instead of being dead you told them she was with me."

Alice snorts. "No, definitely not. And while it was obvious they were both relieved Bella hasn't become a vampire snack, they were also clearly not reassured that she was with you." Alice's voice turns hesitant, touching on what she and Edward had been discussing when she insisted he put on the speakerphone. "They want proof you're okay, Bella."

Bella is already shifting to rise from the bed. "I have Jake's number in my phone—I can just call right now—"

But Alice is protesting, her tone exasperated. "They insisted on seeing you. They seem to think Edward has you…bewitched or something," she snorts again.

Edward's protest is immediate. "We can always just leave. We don't have to live in Forks." His gaze, black with what she has surmised is hunger, rises to her own. Uncertainty is evident there, questioning; he knows he can't make that call for her.

Alice replies before Bella can form a coherent thought, still caught off guard that the Quileutes are so concerned for her safety that they had visited the Cullens. "Carlisle doesn't want to jeopardize the relationship if there isn't the need. After all she _is_ safe and happy. What's the harm in assuring them of that?"

The utter reasonableness of her argument instantly assuages Bella's nerves. She sinks back to the headboard, considering.

But Edward is all adamant tension, lips tight as he answers. "I don't like it." His hands are fists. "You know your vision is spotty at best whenever they're concerned—"

"Billy and Jake didn't have to make that warning visit, Edward. They could have just set the house on fire with all of us in it and no one to know the wiser."

Bella's gasp of horror is instinctive, a hand rising to her mouth at the thought. "Alice, no!"

"But that's what I'm saying, Bella," she offers reassuringly. "They didn't do that. They came to us to find out what we knew, to give us a chance to explain. And now they want proof that we aren't lying."

Edward cuts her reasoning short. "And what of Jasper? I can't bring Bella back if he's still…" Edward's gaze rises to Bella, wary. "…adapting."

There is false confidence in Alice's voice. "I told you, he gets better every day. Think of how long we lived with Esme before—"

Edward cuts her off, the words forceful and angry. "I'd had ten years of feeding as we do—and you've never touched a human with an intent to harm. We're hardly a realistic example!"

The hurt in Alice's voice is evident. "I have faith in him, Edward."

Edward drags a hand over his face, clearly remorseful at having addressed her so shortly. His next words escape his lips on a sigh. "You haven't seen anything?"

Her voice is soft in reply, "The tribe has made everything so shadowy—I just…I don't know." The words are hesitant as she offers a solution. "Jasper could always go to Alaska for a time—if you think it's best." The final words are resigned, as if she already knows. Bella realizes she probably does.

Bella quietly asks, "Will Alaska be…safer?" She thinks of Alice's visions before she and Edward had left for Chicago, the harm Jasper presented to others without Carlisle and Esme to aid in restraining him.

It is Edward's turn to sound hesitant. "There are others there…like us."

Alice's voice is brisk. "I'm sure one of the sisters would meet me halfway—and I could be back in time to ensure we're all on deck for this…proof."

Bella suddenly feels light headed, unaware she's raised a hand to her temple as she faintly echoes Alice. "Sisters…" Her gaze rises to Edward's pale face but his eyes are fixed on the phone, his shoulders nearly to his ears with rigid tension. She is filled with the sudden certainty that one of them must have been the one.

Alice doesn't speak, as if she is aware, from thousands of miles away, of the tension in the room. Edward's eyes finally rise, meeting Bella's stricken gaze, hard, black and unyielding. He says nothing for several seconds, lips tight, a muscle leaping at his jaw. She is the first to look away, her heart in her throat. As if from a distance, she hears Edward speak. "If you and Carlisle agree it's best to acquiesce to the tribe's wishes, then I leave the final decision to Bella."

She can't help feeling as if there's some unspoken challenge in his words, as if he's testing her. But does he truly wish to uproot his family for her? She shakes her head, knowing that can't be what he wants—not when Jake and Billy's request is so easily fulfilled. She speaks softly. "They were Charlie's friends." She bites her lip. "They wouldn't hurt me." She realizes the confidence in her voice is forced, but she's certain this is true. And further, she's certain they can't hurt the Cullens. What harm can come of it?


	25. Chosen

Thank you as always for your reviews.

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><p><em>We either have you in our lives, or leave you to the life you have chosen. <em>

_Howard's End_

**twenty-four**

The limbs of pine and fir sway, shifting with winds whipping high above, barely detectable here among the ferns and scrub close to the earth. The needles are dense at this time of year, black green and fragrant, the to and fro movement of heavy branches like a curtain caught in the breeze of an open window. Like a curtain, the limbs cloak and conceal, hiding things from view.

The highway is more than a hundred yards distant but the only thing to intimate its presence is the occasional hum of a passing engine; the grey of asphalt and streak of yellow paint is impossible to detect with normal vision, especially given the wall of dense forest inbetween. The forest also conceals from view the creature waiting at the county line, muscles loose beneath black fur, inky eyes periodically scanning the stretch of forest beyond which the road lies.

Impatience marks the wolf's stance, paw pads frequently stamping at the soft earth, head tossing as if trying to shake a mantle free. _If only I hadn't fallen asleep,_ he thinks. _I wouldn't be on this babysitting mission._

At that moment, a glimpse of silver streaks by, undetectable but for the acuity of his vision. The wolf is off in an instant, galloping through the verdant thicket, careful to keep his distance from the road as he knows the bloodsucker will be able to detect his presence if he draws too near. When he's certain of the silver car's destination, he turns away from the road and the thickening woods towards the unmistakable salt scent of sea and rich cedar, impatient to deliver his message.

The lull of wheels on pavement and the steady purr of the engine have seemingly soothed Bella into a calm silence. While she had awoken that morning filled with nerves and anxiety, after several hours of tedious travel it's difficult to feel anything other than weary and off-kilter. She can barely reconcile that only the night before she had been lying in bed with Edward in a sumptuous hotel room and now she's suddenly back on the peninsula, surrounded by the green forests that have become so familiar. And with Edward's hand on her knee, it's hard to feel truly worried.

The landscape is a passing blur of evergreen; it's a struggle not to close her eyes and drift off to sleep, to escape in slumber the meeting she's certain will be uncomfortable at best and loudly confrontational at worst. She shakes her head at the thought of Jake and Edward nose to nose, shouting at one another. Her lips tighten. She won't allow it to happen. The Quileutes will have to respect her wishes.

Her hand lifts, unconsciously covering Edward's own. "We're nearly there." His voice is quiet, too somber.

"It'll be fine," Bella reassures him, squeezing his hand. "I'll take a quick shower, you can feed, and we'll get in touch with the tribe."

Edward shakes his head, opening his mouth to speak but she interjects before he can form the words. "I don't want you to wait any longer." She lifts her hand, bringing her fingers to his face; her touch is tentative at first, seeing him frown, but his eyes briefly close as her palm draws flush against his cheek. There is part of him that is appalled she would so pointedly reference what he is, what he must do to function…and part of him that is awed at her apparent comfort with it, at the matter of fact tone to her words. Bella's voice is faint. "Your eyes have grown so black…"

Her hand falls away as a blush steals up her throat, her gaze dropping to her lap. She can barely admit to herself that part of the reason she wants him to feed is to allow him the self-control he was unable to demonstrate the night before. She only hopes he can't guess the reason for her embarrassment.

A sign flashes in her peripheral vision, a blur of letters declaring the city limits. A faint smile crosses her lips at the thought of this tiny burg in comparison to the metropolis from which she's just come. Edward's fingers tighten around her knee before dragging away to the gear shift, reluctant to break contact. "What are you thinking?" he asks, his eyes on the road, voice rough.

"How small Forks seems after Chicago," she admits, the words light. She can't help wishing he wouldn't be so tense, shoulders rigid beneath his white button up, knuckles pale where they wrap around the steering wheel.

Soon, they are at Charlie's little clapboard house. Bella somehow expects the residence to look different after the strange, emotional days she'd spent with Edward in Chicago but it is unchanged; the cracked drive running parallel to the front lawn is dark gray with damp, the porch slats warped and mossy, the branches of towering pines crowding close to the sloped roof.

Edward is already out of the car, retrieving her duffel from the trunk and opening the passenger side door. Bella steps out of the car slowly, stretching as she does so; it has already been a long day of sitting in airport terminals, on planes, and in the car. A small smile plays over Edward's lips as he waits for her to gather herself; she can't resist smiling back, a sudden burst of relief erupting inside at the thought that she's allowed to—that there is nothing to stop her from responding to him as she's drawn to do.

He insists on accompanying her inside, running her duffel up the narrow stairs before re-appearing in the living room. "If you're sure—" he begins.

"Yes," she insists. "You need to eat and I couldn't be bothered to shower this morning. It'll wake me up," she stretches again, arching her back as her lids tiredly sink shut. "Don't we have to wait for Alice to get back anyways?" she asks as she opens her eyes. But Edward's gaze is fixed lower and she belatedly realizes how the movement had drawn his attention to her breasts. A blush abruptly blooms across her cheeks.

As if sensing this profusion of blood, Edward's black eyes lift—but instead of the embarrassed, curt reaction she had experienced that first rainy night in Chicago, a wolfish grin slowly curves across his lips, his gaze glittering as he steps close. One pale hand lands on her hip, the other curling at her nape. "Is it your intention to hasten my leaving?" he asks, voice low.

Bella can feel her pulse racing and longs to drop her gaze—but she is irresistibly caught in his stare, lips breathlessly parted. "Of-of course not," she stutters. In a distant corner of her mind she notes his archaic wording, that, like his speed and strength, he is making no attempt to hide who he is. Her breath quickens.

Edward's lips lower until they are upon hers, tender, gentle, almost hesitant. Bella closes her eyes, savoring the sensation, his nearness. Without thinking, her tongue darts out to moisten her lips and encounters his; a low growl suddenly erupts from his throat before his mouth closes harshly over her own. His arms wrap around her figure, pulling her close, nearly bending her backwards with the force of his embrace. Bella can only pant against his mouth, too shocked at his response to resist, to worry at his strength, to question his motives.

Just as unexpectedly as the kiss began, it is abruptly over. Bella staggers at the sudden cessation of his embrace, a hand flying out to catch herself on the back of the couch. Her gaze swims around the room, trying to regain her bearings, and sees Edward is in the far corner, his hands over his face. Unsteadily, she crosses to his side, covering his hands with her own and slowly draws them away. "Go feed," she calmly commands.

Though his gaze is still cast shamefacedly to the floor, he silently nods. "Give me enough time to shower and unpack—and maybe eat something myself," she adds as an afterthought, her gaze drifting towards the kitchen as she wonders if Alice left anything she might be able to throw together. "Just call when you're on your way and we can head to your house to wait for Alice to get back."

He nods again, the shame slowly fading, transitioning to resolve. Cautiously, as if giving her time to flinch away, he lowers his lips to her cheek, a brief, fleeting kiss. He gazes into her eyes for a long moment before quietly speaking. "Thank you."

"For what?" she asks, a small smile flitting over her lips at what feels like such a normal demonstration of affection.

Edward is silent, as if unable to find the words. Finally, he replies, "For everything."

The bathroom mirror still shows roses in her cheeks when she finally undresses to shower. She turns away from the flushed reflection, somehow feeling that if she allows herself to glory in these giddy emotions, to examine the brightness in her eyes and the smile she can't repress, she will give them reason to stop. Beneath the spray of water, she scrubs at her skin, trying to wash away the day's worth of travel. She tries to put the meeting with the Quileutes out of her mind, uncertain of what she'll say, worried at the idea of trying to explain a situation she can barely define herself.

Though the attraction between her and Edward is now evident, she still has no sense of what the future holds for them. She is uncertain of what kind of future is even possible given his unchanging immortality and her fragile humanity. Bella shies away from this reality, shutting off the water as if she might shut off the worrying thoughts.

She crosses the landing to her bedroom, checking to assure the curtains are closed after recalling Edward's sudden appearance—she can hardly believe it was only four days ago. Bella drags on jeans and a worn University of Washington sweatshirt; the logo is faded to a hazy violet, the ribbing at the neckline stretched and loose. Padding down the stairs on bare feet, she tries to remember if she'd bought soup the last time she'd gone to the grocery store—otherwise she may be stuck with crackers and peanut butter.

She has just begun peering into the cupboards when there is a knock at the door. A frown flits across her brow as she slowly turns, looking towards the front door with confusion. It can't have been more than thirty minutes since Edward left…which she confirms as she crosses the living room and glances towards the ancient stereo that largely functions as a clock. The knocking sounds again, more urgent this time.

Bella is cautious, straining up on tip toes to squint through the peephole. Abruptly, she steps back, throwing the door wide. "Sue!" she exclaims. "What are you doing here?"

The older woman is glancing around with obvious worry, her dark eyes full of concern. "I've stopped by nearly every day, Bella," she answers, her voice hushed. "And if I couldn't make it, I sent Harry or Jake over."

"Oh, Sue," Bella frowns, trying to refrain from sounding condescending to a woman she's often felt has acted like the mother figure Renee could never quite be. "There wasn't any need for that." She gestures down at herself. "As you can see, I'm perfectly fine."

Sue's lips twist before she glances over her shoulder, anxiety evident in the furtive movement. When she responds, her tone is almost desperate. "Bella, those people aren't safe."

Bella restrains a sigh of exasperation and gestures for Sue to come inside, hoping to allay her obvious fears. "If that were the case," she gently begins, closing the door behind her, "I wouldn't be here."

Sue shakes her head and reaches forward, grasping Bella's hands with fervent insistence. "That's exactly my fear, Bella." After experiencing only Edward's cool touch for the past few days, Sue's warmth is almost astonishing—as is the vehemence with which she speaks. "One slip—one false move—and what would become of you?" She shakes her head again, black strands peppered with gray shifting over her shoulders. "You must know of their strength—their speed. You wouldn't stand a chance."

Bella resists the urge to draw her hands away, lips pressed tight with the desire to disagree, to defend Edward and the Cullens to this woman she so respects. "I do know," she gently replies. "Which makes their restraint all the more admirable, don't you think?"

But she may as well be speaking to a brick wall. Sue is shaking her head again and Bella is surprised to see tears in her black eyes. "Will you at least let the others know you're okay?" Sue pleads. "We've all been so worried."

Bella longs to protest, to gesture again at her perfectly intact and uninjured figure. But Sue seems on the verge of hysteria, her expression distorted with worry and fear; it is a shocking contrast to the warmth and patience that usually paints her features. "I promise you," Bella tries again, imbuing her voice with conviction. "I really am fine—more than fine," she boldly adds.

But Sue won't hear it. "They won't believe me." She shakes her head. "I can barely believe it myself." A hesitant hand gently lands on Bella's arm. "Won't you just come back to the house? I know Harry will be so relieved." Bella suspects Sue is also hoping Harry can be more persuasive about the danger the Cullens represent, but she refrains from accusing the woman of having dubious motives; ultimately, she knows Sue is driven by concern for her safety.

Bella's head jerks up with a sudden thought, eyes blank and unfocused as if she is gazing at some distant, unseen point. A brief frown furrows her brow before her forehead smoothes, a decision quickly made. "Okay," Bella relents, a hesitant smile playing over her lips. Sue's relief is instantaneous, a teary smile transforming her expression before she is tugging on Bella's arm.

"My car is outside—Harry should be home."

"Let me just get my shoes on," Bella laughingly protests. She quickly hurries up the stairs before returning to the living room with canvas flats on her feet. She finds Sue shifting from foot to foot with a nervousness that only abates after they step through the front door and hurry down the steps to the curb.

As she ducks into Sue's station wagon, Bella can't help thinking it's as if a weight has been lifted; she feels gratified by her realization and quick action—that she'd figured out a way around the confrontation she'd been dreading all day. After all, if she goes to the reservation now and assures the tribe of her well-being, she can then avoid any tense meeting between the Cullens and Quileutes later.

Inside the house, the cell phone she had not yet unpacked begins to ring.

Deep in the Olympic National Forest, a single doe gallops through the brush, heart straining, the whites of her eyes flashing with wild fear. She scrambles over bracken and tangled tree roots, sensing the presence of the predator immediately behind. A clearing appears through the dense trees and freedom appears imminent—before the sudden shock of cold water, a stream swollen with snow melt, sends her stumbling.

The predator is upon her, white arms around fawn throat, uncaring of the freezing water. Her narrow head twists in strong hands, a swift, merciful death. Edward quickly lowers his mouth, knowing her blood will cool doubly fast in the swift moving stream. The vibration of his phone in his pocket is a faint sensation in the rushing water; it is only after he has sated his thirst that he thinks to check the device. Now water-logged, the screen is blankly black.

At the Clearwaters, Bella is growing frustrated. Harry simply refuses to see reason. "But didn't he have dozens of chances to do me harm?"

"It's what they're built to do, Bella." She can tell Harry is equally frustrated, rising from the kitchen table where they've been sitting and crossing to the fridge. He pulls out a beer and cracks it open with a sigh. "While I'm sure you believe he has good intentions," his voice is grudging, "and there's even the possibility that he—or any of the others, don't intend to harm you," He shakes his head with another sigh. "It can't end well."

To her chagrin, Bella pales at his words. Though he doesn't realize it, Harry is voicing the concern that she carries in her heart—though for very different reasons. "You know it," Harry grimly continues, noting that her angry flush has subsided, cheeks ghostly white, lips parted with silent fear. "You know it even if you won't admit it."

"I know no such thing," Bella roughly replies, trying to restrain the annoyance in her voice. Harry was one of her father's best friends, his image smiling alongside Billy's in photographs over the years, his warmth and generosity after Charlie's death one of the few bright spots in her life after she'd returned to Forks. "I know he won't hurt me—none of them will."

The sudden slam of the screen door causes Bella to start, jumping to her feet. The clank of metal and the buzz of wheels against carpet precedes Billy's appearance in the doorway. "Bella," he exhales. "Thank God you're okay."

"Of course I'm okay!" she exclaims. "Why won't anyone believe me?"

"Because our kind have known of the Cold Ones for centuries," Billy flatly explains, his lined features solemn. "Our legends speak of their wrong-doings—"

It is only Bella's increasing desperation that could make her interrupt a man she so intrinsically respects. "Then why do you have a treaty?" The words are nearly a wail, hands thrown up in frustration.

"It was committed to by our ancestors," Billy answers uncomfortably, his hands shifting in his lap. "I cannot say that as the tribe now stands, we would agree to such a pact."

Bella can only exhale with increasing ire, dragging her hands over her face. The screen door slams again and her hands fall, a line forming between her brows. Sue had left Bella and Harry in the kitchen to discuss the Cullens; until this moment, she had not questioned where Sue had gone. She darts around Billy, his voice a distant protest to her ears. As she crosses the threshold into the living room, she freezes upon finding Jacob and Sam, their dark, glowering expressions mirrors of one another as they tensely stand near the door.

"What…" She can't form the words, the thoughts, shaking her head as they return her confused stare with ominous silence.

"Bella," Billy is behind her, his voice gentle. She turns on her heel, staring down at him with stunned disbelief. "It isn't safe for you to have anything to do with the Cullens. You must know that."

She shakes her head, her voice faint. "I don't know any such thing." She has been saying this all along and none of them will listen.

"I don't know what that leech has done to you," Jacob's voice is an angry mutter behind her. "That you don't see how crazy this is."

Bella spins on her heel, her heart pounding with a fear she is desperately trying to tamp down; it isn't as if they have threatened her or restrained her—she shouldn't have anything to be afraid of. "How would you know?" she asks him. She can hear the tears in her voice and roughly swallows, fighting for calm, for reason. "How would any of you know?" she turns, staring down at Billy. His dark eyes are unflinching and she struggles to maintain her gaze. "How would any of you know what I want? How I feel?" She turns again, facing Jake and Sam. "Why do you suddenly care?"

A part of her knows this is unfair, that she is equally at fault for never engaging—but as she hears the tramp of feet on the front porch and sees Paul and Embry's figures loom through the screen door, the feeling is subsumed by fury and fear.

It is Jake who replies, his tone filled with recriminating anger. "It's what Charlie would have wanted."

It takes all of Bella's restraint not to slap his face, hands clenching into fists at her sides. She distantly realizes she is shaking, the slam of the screen door faint to her ears as Embry and Paul join the others in the Clearwater's living room. She struggles to sound firm but can hear the quaver in her voice. "You can't keep me here against my will."

Though she is addressing them all, her eyes had remained trained on Jake as she'd spoken. He is the one who responds, his expression unmoved. "We can't let you walk into certain death."

Though she knows it is too late, that she is sorely outnumbered, this is the moment that Bella rushes forward, darting towards the door. She isn't certain if it's Sam or Jake she crashes against, breath burning in her lungs as she writhes in the strong arms wrapped like cables around her slight figure. As she feels her feet sliding backwards across the rough carpet and hears the cacophony of urgent voices around her, the desperation of her situation begins to sink in. She pounds her fists against the solid chest inches from her face with all of her might; it takes several seconds for the sensation to register, crying out as her hands pulse with sudden excruciating pain.

"Let her go!" It is Sue's voice, calling out above all the others, returned from wherever she had been rallying the clan. Bella can only gasp as she is released, crumpling to the floor as her hands pulse with white hot pain; her entire body shudders with shock, eyes squeezed shut in horror and disbelief. Uncaring of the gentle hands she feels upon her shoulders, she forces her eyes open to look down at her rapidly swelling fingers.

At her core, Bella knows that she is highly practical, even overly rational; it figures in the manner in which she pursues her goals, deciding on a course of study and the most appropriate school while most of her contemporaries were bouncing from major to major. Her practicality is the reason she has never been in debt, always living within her means, always able to rationalize away any passing desire as exactly that. In her heart, Bella knows that even her reserve, ever on the outside looking in, serves a practical purpose; she had swiftly learned the lesson as a child that if she made friends wherever she happened to be living, it would only be a matter of time before Renee was packing up the car, destined for somewhere new. Maintaining a certain distance was the safest course, the most reasonable way of assuring that she felt no sadness at leaving people behind.

It is likely this practicality, always so rational, that had prevented her from suspecting anything supernatural in Edward's behavior or actions during the weeks that she had seen him at the health center. Bella did not inhabit a world where such things were possible, where fairy tales had any basis in reality. But even without the knowledge of what he is, she would be hard-pressed to find a practical reason that beating against someone's chest would render her hands swollen and bruised. She raises her gaze, brown eyes wide as she looks up at Sam's looming figure, his features stony and unyielding. She finds herself repeating the question she had cried out from the closet of her father's bedroom—but now her voice is a whisper, full of fear and confusion—and the certainty that all is not what it seems. "What are you?"

But Sue is calling over her head, demanding bandages and splints, her arms insistently tugging at Bella's shoulders. "Come on, hon'," she murmurs. "Let's get you into Leah's room so you can lie down."

Bella is shaking her head, trying to protest. "I don't want to lie down. I want to go. I need to go." But it feels as if she is speaking the words underwater, the babble of other voices, plotting and planning, drowning her out. She is propelled upstairs and down a narrow hall before Sue guides her into a small bedroom at the back of the house. Bella is barely able to register lilac walls and white painted furniture before she is prone on a narrow twin bed, her protests ignored as Sue removes her shoes. Sue turns to the door, one hand braced against the frame as she calls out further requests. Bella has barely risen onto her elbows before Sue is back at her side with a large bowl of ice, tanned hands firm around Bella's wrists as she eases her bruised fingers into the bowl. Sue's expression is contrite as she sits on the edge of the bed cradling the bowl, her mouth a thin line.

"It's for the best," she quietly states. Bella isn't sure whether she's referring to the numbing ice or the fact that they have all restrained her from leaving.

Bella refuses to meet her gaze, turning her face to the wall. She remains silent when Sue prompts her to take an ibuprofen, and barely flinches when Sue's tanned hands probe at her fingers, seeking any break in the bones. She does not respond when Sue murmurs, "I think there's only some bruising and spraining." And she does not protest when Sue splints two of her fingers to be on the safe side. Bella continues to hold her tongue when the older woman finally stands, uncertainty evident in her posture.

"Bella," Sue almost pleads. Bella again turns her face to the wall, her expression set. Sue's voice is soft as she repeats herself. "It's for the best."

It is only after the door has shut that Bella's emotions become evident, her expression one of focus and intensity as her gaze darts around the room. She sees that there is a single window next to the bed, the door to the hall directly across from it on the opposite wall. Tentatively, expecting someone to burst in at any moment, she swings her feet to the floor. She curses as she realizes Sue took her shoes when she left the room.

It takes all of Bella's willpower not to cry at this setback, appalled at the lengths the Quileutes have gone to in assuring she won't try to escape. Gritting her teeth, she stands, resolved that something as minor as bare feet won't keep her in the Clearwater's house.

She tiptoes to the door and presses her ear to the wood panels. She frowns as she hears a voice directly outside, one half of a conversation distinctly audible. "...patrolling the border…no sign yet…Billy said…yeah…even if they are faster, we got 'em outnumbered…"

Bella waits for a time but the voice never fades; she realizes they must have someone stationed outside her room—Quil by the sound of it, speaking into his cell. She briefly wonders if he is like Sam, if his strength is such that beating upon his chest would render her the injured one. She looks down at her bandaged hands and decides she can't risk it.

She pads across the room, sensitive to any squeaking floor boards that might indicate her less than compliant movements. A clock on the dresser indicates more than an hour has passed since she first arrived to the Clearwater's house. Edward must know by now that she is missing. She catches her lip between her teeth, worry washing over her features as weariness sinks into her bones.

The very thing she'd been trying to avoid is now guaranteed to happen. She inhales, pushing away the fear and anxiety. Perhaps she can still escape. Perhaps disaster can be averted just yet.

She crosses to the window, staying close to the wall so as to avoid notice by anyone outside. To her disappointment, she sees there is no roof or ledge she might have clambered onto; instead, it is a sheer drop to the ground below. Further, in the weakening light she can just glimpse two men outside, black hair and broad shoulders making it difficult to tell—is it Embry? Or Sam? Perhaps Jake? But it doesn't matter. Her efforts are useless. Even if she managed to survive the drop uninjured, they would be upon her in a moment. And whatever they are, she has no chance of fighting them.

She does not realize she is shaking and dashes away the tears that are seeping from her eyes with angry hands. Perhaps Carlisle will be able to reason with them. Perhaps Edward will wait out the Quileutes, allowing the tribe to come to their senses and eventually release her—at which point she can return to him. Or perhaps he will tire of these complicating factors that accompany having her in his life and will simply leave, forcing her to resume the dull existence she'd led before. At this thought, she curls against the door, vaguely comforted by the distraction of Quil's conversation, trying to force away the despairing thoughts.

Her mind drifts as the sky darkens beyond the window, fighting off sleep, straining to hear any news via Quil's sporadic calls. It is during a long patch of silence that she finds herself thinking of Alice, wondering if the fey seer had any warning of what would happen. And now that Bella is captive, can Alice tell what will become of her? Or is she simply a vague blur, surrounded by shadows, her future unknown?


	26. Frightened

Thank you for reading.

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><p><em>And as they had frightened her, she had, strangely enough, ceased to respect them.<em>

_A Room with a View_

**twenty-five**

Bella shifts uncomfortably, the thin mattress unfamiliar and narrow, the sheets rough against her skin. Foreign sounds reach her ears; the clatter of pots and pans below, the murmur of nearby voices and the wild barking of dogs somewhere in the distance. The throbbing of her hands is like an alarm clock, her body shooting upright as her eyes flare wide. The memories rush back and Bella's face crumples with a mixture of anxiety and frustration.

She kicks the blankets from her legs and creeps towards the window, eager to see if her guards are still present, still watchful. Dawn has just begun to color the sky above the dark silhouette of the surrounding trees, the faintest pink dancing along the horizon. Bella's pupils slowly adjust to the gloom, breath held in her lungs as dogs continue to bay in the distance; just below, she is able to make out a squatting figure, his face in shadow. The glowing tip of a cigarette momentarily flares bright, illuminating the features of Jared Cameron.

Bella sinks back from the window, shoulders slumped with defeat, her thoughts in turmoil. She had thought the number of men keeping watch was no more than five: Sam, Jake, Embry, Paul, and Quil outside her door. Sometime in the night, she had started awake at the sound of voices so near the words were audible; she had scrambled up from Leah's narrow bed, wondering if they were going to let her go, if somehow they had come to see reason. Paul's snide voice had called through the wood panels, "Don't get all excited—we're just switching shifts."

But if Jared is outside her window now, that means more of the tribe has appeared at the Clearwater's house since she was first taken to Leah's room. Bella now wonders if the clanging of pots and dishes she can hear through the floor boards is breakfast being prepared for this Quileute army.

Her stomach growls in anticipation and she frowns at this traitorous response. Sue had brought up dinner the night before but Bella had ignored her and the plate of fried fish and sweet bread in her hands. She wanted nothing to do with a woman who had so betrayed her trust and respect. Sue had tried to reason with her again but Bella had only broken her silence after Sue had said, "Don't you see we're just trying to protect you from these monsters?"

"Edward is not a monster!" Bella had abruptly shouted, her entire body hot with barely restrained rage. Sue's tanned face registered shock and something akin to fear, mouth agape. "None of them are!" Bella had continued. Sue had beat a quick retreat, leaving the plate behind. Bella found herself succumbing to the demands of her appetite some time later, picking at the food long after it had gone cold; the last thing she'd eaten had been a packet of mixed nuts the flight attendant had handed out on the journey back from Chicago.

Hearing an angry mutter just outside the door, she tiptoes towards the sound, wondering who Paul is speaking to.

"…supposed to be here thirty minutes ago! What the hell is going on? Listen—call if you can—or use the code. Just let me know what's happening." His voice abruptly cuts off and Bella inhales as she realizes that he'd been leaving a voice mail—and that his tone and questions can only mean something has gone wrong.

Paul's voice picks up again before she can process what this means, the words a frustrated growl as he speaks into his phone. "Hey, have you heard anything?"

Bella struggles with the disorienting feeling of hearing a faint voice in response, the words inaudible—before she realizes it's Jared outside her window several feet below. Paul's voice intrudes again. "I can't hear the code at all from inside this damn house!" Bella lurches back from the door at the barely contained rage in his voice, uncertain what he might do should he realize she's listening.

"Has he gotten past the line?" There is burgeoning panic beneath the words and Bella's heart begins to pound in earnest, knowing he can only mean one person. She leans against the wall, suddenly weak, her breathing shallow.

The patter of feet coming up the stairs interrupts Paul's conversation with Jared. His voice struggles for calm as he speaks. "Forget breakfast. You should go check on Leah and Seth."

Sue's voice is soft, almost impossible to hear. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah," Paul's response is gruff. "They should have been back by now. If something's going to go down, it'd be better if you and Harry were over at the Littleseas with Leah and Seth."

Bella's brows lift as she realizes this is where Harry and Sue's two children had been the previous night. She leans close to the door, trying to make out Sue's response. Only Paul's voice, loudly insistent, reaches her ears. "Don't say that. We all did what we had to do." Bella's brow furrows, eyes narrowing as she looks down to her battered hands. She wants to shout through the door and refute his words—that none of this was necessary, that their overreaction has sealed their own fate.

There is the tromp of retreating feet and Bella straightens, carefully listening as Paul resumes his conversation with Jared. "Yeah, they're heading out. No sense in risking it." There is a pause and her ears strain, trying to discern the words of the murmuring voice below the bedroom window. "No, I know. Though I wish we were out there with the rest of them instead of stuck here." Bella's lips tighten, defiance warming her blood. He wouldn't have to be here if they would let her go! But she knows, of all the Quileutes, Paul is the least likely to be won over by any argument from her.

The conversation with Jared soon ceases and she realizes her entire body has gone rigid, muscles tensed with anticipation. But for what? She has a sense that something has gone awry—that Edward somehow prevented the changing of the guards outside her door and window. But how? She can hear Paul restlessly pacing in the hallway and longs to mimic his strides—but she's reluctant to draw his attention, preferring he forget her presence entirely. After all, that might be her only way of making an escape.

Distantly, she hears the low rumble of Sue's station wagon firing to life followed by the churn of wheels against gravel. She tries to sit on the bed but hops up seconds later, unable to remain still. She longs to wring her hands but the swelling and dull pain in her fingers makes such a motion impossible. Bella doesn't realize she's holding her breath until her lungs protest, lips parting as she gasps for air.

Her eyes dart back and forth from the clock on the dresser to the narrow window for what feels like an eternity, watching the minutes pass and the sky brighten with baited breath. The thud of her own heartbeat seems to echo in her ears and it takes her several seconds to realize why the sound seems so loudly ominous.

The house is silent. There are no banging pans…and no barking dogs in the distance. She had thought the animals belonged to some nearby neighbor, likely tethered in a yard with nothing to occupy them, the sporadic howling as reliable as the ticking of the clock. But the house is eerily quiet, the only sound her own shallow breathing.

A cacophony of barks and howls breaks the silence and Bella sags with the realization she'd misinterpreted the lack of noise—that perhaps the dogs had just been fed or distracted in some other manner, and that her anticipation is now playing tricks on her mind.

A loud clatter and a strangled cry directly outside Leah's bedroom door instantly distract her from these thoughts. Bella whips around to face the door, mouth open with surprise and fear, body braced as if for a blow. A low growl suddenly reverberates from behind the panels and her hand flies to her throat, confusion mingling with the certainty that something has happened to Paul. Is it Edward? Would he hurt one of the Quileutes?

She flies to the door and wrenches it open, knowing she must intervene to try to prevent any of the tribe from coming to harm. But the hallway is empty…except for the broken remnants of a chair and the shredded tatters of a pair of jeans and a tee shirt. She stares down at the torn clothing, her bewilderment apparent in her deep frown and narrowed gaze. But there is no time to examine this mystery—she realizes she must act now if she is to escape.

Bella darts to her left, recalling in the chaos and confusion of the night before that this was the direction from which she'd come. She gasps in relief at finding a narrow stairwell at the end of the corridor, reaching for the bannister as she hurries down on bare feet. She is nearly to the bottom when a fierce snarl sends her stumbling back, one shaking hand clinging to the railing.

An enormous black dog crouches at the bottom of the stairs, midnight eyes fixed on her figure, fangs bared as a low growl vibrates from its throat. Bella chokes on a scream, unable to understand how the creature could have gotten in the house. But there is no time to think for it is lunging forward, nails scratching against floor boards, muscles rippling beneath fur. She spins on her heel and flees back up the stairs as quickly as her feet will allow. Her mind is awash in confusion, only able to react, completely unable to understand.

Somewhere amidst the panic and fear, breath panting from her lungs as she skids down the hall, Edward's voice echoes through her head. _The Quileutes have their secrets, too._ She barely registers the pain in her hands as she shoves through Leah's bedroom door and bangs it shut behind her, chest heaving as she fumbles at the knob, seeking a lock. But there is nothing to secure the door.

For now, though, the low growl remains directly outside the door, almost as if the dog is warning her to stay inside. She slowly backs away from the door, battered hands defensively raised before her. A sudden realization occurs to her and she whips around, facing the window. If Paul has abandoned his post, perhaps Jared has as well?

Bella rushes to the window, nose nearly pressed to the pane in her desperation. Intense disappointment sends her hopes plummeting, blinking back tears as she sees the familiar black-haired figure down in the yard below. Her forehead furrows as she notices Jared isn't standing upright—he's bent at the waist, as if he's in intense pain.

He suddenly collapses, falling to the grass on his hands and knees. Instinctively, Bella's bruised fingers press to the glass, desperate to somehow reach him, to help him. Her horror intensifies as she hears him groan, the sound audible a floor above. His back arches sharply, dark head thrown back as another groan escapes his throat. She begins to tug at the latch, silently cursing her swollen, clumsy hands, glancing over her shoulder and suddenly wishing, contrary to all of her earlier desires, that Paul hadn't run away. Without her phone, she has no way of calling an ambulance—for clearly Jared is in trouble.

Her gaze darts back down to the yard and her hands abruptly drop from the latch, fumbling for the window sill as she struggles to stay upright, distressingly light-headed with shock. For Jared is no longer below, a watchful Quileute guard. Instead, an enormous dog has taken his place, shaking his shaggy frame as if he's just emerged from the water. Beneath his paws are the shredded remains of Jared's clothes.

_The Quileutes have their secrets, too._ Slowly, numbly, Bella glances back over her shoulder, her expression dull, cheeks pale, as the realization sinks in: Paul has not left his post. Stunned brown eyes fall to her battered hands and she thinks back, recalling the certainty that there must have been some fantastical reason beating on Sam's chest would have injured her so.

In shock, her gaze shifts back to the window. She chokes on a breath, her heart seizing as she realizes why Paul and Jared are no longer hiding what they truly are.

Evergreen forests blanket the reservation, growing sparse only as one approaches the ocean. The towering pines, fir and spruce blur not only the borders between houses, but between private property and the common land of the reservation. The Clearwater's home is no different, the conifer trees scattered and thin where the green grass of the yard springs up, but growing dense and dark the farther one ventures out.

Weaving through these trees, arms pumping at his sides, eyes narrowed with intense concentration, Edward is racing towards the house. The panting figures of four black dogs trail behind him, their dark coats blending with the shadows of the forest, macabre ghosts haunting his pale figure.

Bella's gaze falls, distracted by movement directly below. Her eyes flare wide as she sees Jared has launched himself forward, muscles bunching beneath black fur, teeth barred as he barrels directly towards Edward's speeding frame.

She does not think. Her fingers are at the latch again, registering no pain as she forces the stubborn lock and lifts the frame. Faintly, the sound of growling beyond the bedroom door reaches her ears but she pays no heed, leaning breathlessly through the open window.

Edward has nearly reached the border of the yard and she sucks in a breath as she sees his gaze lift, as if drawn to her. The relief that washes over his features is no reassurance to her for she can hear what she now knows is Paul scratching and snarling on the other side of the door. If Edward leaps into Leah's bedroom like he had ostensibly done the night she'd discovered the truth of what he is, they will be trapped between the dogs outside and Paul's furious figure inside. She cannot imagine any scenario where someone isn't injured…or far worse.

These thoughts all pass through her mind in a matter of seconds, hands braced in the window frame as tendrils of hair whip around her face in the breeze. Her heart seizes in her chest as she sees Jared will be upon Edward within moments. Behind her, she can hear Paul's snapping and growling intensifying, the door thudding with the sound of what can only be the angered dog throwing himself against the panels.

Edward's voice fills her ears, her gaze blank and unseeing as her vision fills with the pale intensity of his features the day they'd left for Chicago—the day she'd discovered the truth. _Do you trust me?_

It is barely a decision, simply reacting, trying to avert what she cannot bear to happen. She climbs into the open window, legs bent, the steel edge of the frame pressing into the soles of her bare feet. Her bruised hands shake where she clings to the sash. She looks away from Edward's approaching figure, gaze lifting to the gray of the sky, to the pall of the clouds, to the sway of the tree tops. She does not breathe as she leaps, imagining herself light as air, the wide open sky surrounding her.

Below, black eyes remain fixed on the vampire's flying feet, lungs bursting with the strain of keeping pace. Jake can barely register his own exhaustion, half the night spent following false trails laid by the bloodsucker, zigzagging over the reservation border all along its length. It was only after hours of this game that Sam had speculated the Cullen boy was deliberately tiring them, running the tribe ragged in a prolonged strategy of assuring there was as little resistance as possible when he finally made his attempt.

"But what about the three others?" Embry had protested in the shortened code they'd all rapidly learned to use in the absence of speech. "We can't patrol the border _and_ trail him!"

"This is his battle," Sam had replied, a low growl in the dark of the woods. The others had grumbled but ultimately complied, alternating between keeping watch a short distance from the Clearwater house and following the vampire's relentless baiting trails. Lungs burning for air, muscles shaking with weariness, Jake realizes Sam's decision had come too late. The wolves are drained.

Now, as Sam barks out an order for Quil and Embry to round to the front of house, the two wolves immediately break away from the pack. Jake's gaze lifts, following their churning feet as they weave through the trees and over the grass, approaching the Clearwater house. His black eyes shift higher, acute vision drawn to a sudden, unexpected movement.

It takes all of his willpower not to stumble, nearly choking as he sees Bella Swan, pale as a wraith, hair whipping around her face, slender figure cutting through the air as if only water awaits below. It is this shock that keeps him from leaping after Edward Cullen, who effortlessly lifts into the sky to catch her, a bird without wings.

A renewed burst of energy pulses through Jake's veins, certain that this is as Sam had expected. Having investigated Charlie's house thoroughly during Bella's worrying absence, they'd determined the bloodsucker had only ever entered through the windows. But his hope that the vampire will be trapped in the Clearwater house, surrounded by wolves on all sides, dies as suddenly as it was borne.

Unnatural, agile creature, Edward is twisting through the air, Bella in his arms. His feet hit the shingles of the Clearwater house high above, a loud thud given the force of his momentum—before his lithe figure ricochets back and flies over their heads, like a ball bounced against a wall. Jake, caught up in his own momentum, is barely able to shift course, panting as he scrambles to turn, nails catching in the soft ground, tearing up the earth as he struggles to pivot and maintain speed. Desperation blooms anew as he sees the vampire is already disappearing into the woods.

Sam is frantically howling, the code nearly garbled in his panic, calling for Quil and Embry to return to formation. Jake hears rather than sees the crash of glass as Paul leaps through Leah's bedroom window, drawing on reserves of energy none of the others have.

The young wolf races ahead of the pack, feet flying. Jake gasps for air, struggling to keep the vampire in his sight, defeated with the realization that he's largely following scent in his fatigue. He can dimly see Bella has shifted onto the vampire's back, chestnut hair streaming behind them as they weave through the trees. Paul has nearly reached them but Jake knows the wolf can't keep up with the bloodsucker's pace for long, that the monster is just too fast—even with the added burden of Bella Swan.

It is only when Paul launches forward that Jake realizes the implications of what catching the vampire, with Bella hanging from his back, could be. The reality appears to hit Sam at the same moment for he is bellowing for Paul to fall back—the howl faint with lack of breath. To his relief, he sees Paul draw short but isn't certain until they reach his side that disaster has been averted; Paul, unable to comprehend the reason for Sam's command, is nearly swaggering with pride, lifting a foreleg to show where a scrap of Bella's shirt hangs from his claws.

Bella, breathless with the impossibility of her rescue, barely registers the sensation of passing air, a whisper against her skin as they whip through the forests of the reservation, a blur of green to her gaze.

She worries her arms are too tight around Edward's neck, then squeezes her eyes shut with the remembrance that she cannot choke him, that he does not strain for air—that the air is nothing to him. Speeding through the forest, wind whipping by, her mind fixes on the memory of his arms locking around her frame though she was still feet from the ground, propelling them both forward towards the house. She had cringed against his chest, certain they would crash into the wall—but he had shifted, twisting somehow so that instead they were thrust back, flying again, moving so quickly once they reached the ground that she had not fully registered that he'd landed until his voice murmured against her ear. "Can you ride on my back?"

She'd nodded mutely, trying to absorb the fact that he was shifting her in his arms as he sped forward, blinking rapidly as her eyes tried to resolve the scenery passing too swiftly for her brain to form full images.

It seems she is only on his back for seconds, breathing in the scent of him, too afraid to glance behind them for fear the dogs are still following, when the cedar shingles of the Cullens' house comes into view.

Though he has drawn to a halt before the familiar shadowed porch, though the reservation is miles behind, she clings to his back, unable to let go. Irrationally, she hangs on to him, eyes tightly shut, filled with the certainty that she will only stay safe as long as she is with him.


	27. Live Where I'm Not Known

Thank you all so much. The last chapter had the most reviews of anything I've written and I am so happy it resonated with so many people. I hope I made up for it by getting to (almost) all the reviews; if you guys take the time to leave them, it's only right to take the time to thank you for it. I'd also like to thank Songster for mentioning_ Everlasting Why_ on The Fictionators-and anyone else who's recommended this story elsewhere.

The Old One, Ordinary Vamp and Elizabeth440 have been fantastic at offering feedback, but especially on these coming chapters. This story is so much better for their help.

Lastly, I will be out of the country for the next two Saturdays. I'm pretty sure I can still post on time next week but if there's any kind of delay, you now know why.

Thank you again_. _

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><p><em>I cannot fit in with England as I know it. I have done something that the English never pardon. It would not be right for them to pardon it. So I must live where I am not known.<em>

_Howard's End_

**twenty-six**

"What were you thinking? !"

The shout seems to reverberate through her ears, her hands loosening their grasp in shock. She slides down Edward's back, realizing too late that her legs are unlikely to keep her upright—but he has already spun around, his pale face ablaze with unexpected fury, strong hands steadying her before abruptly letting go.

"Why would you jump? !" The words are still a shout but the desperation of his tone manages to pierce Bella's fog, his voice nearly cracking on the final word.

"I knew you'd catch me." Her reply is a whisper but she knows he hears, his hands rising to cover his face, as if despairing at her answer.

"You trust me too much." He is shaking his head wildly, his voice crying out from between his fingers. "You have too much faith in me!"

Bella stumbles to her left, as if tugged in that direction—then realizes Alice has appeared in that sudden manner only their kind are capable of, a small hand wrapped around Bella's arm, pulling her up the porch steps. The petite girl is looking impatiently over her shoulder, features tight with worry as she sharply calls, "Come on, Edward!"

Inside, all is chaos and rushing figures, a blur to her still stunned gaze. She is passed from Alice to Esme, the transition so smooth it takes her several seconds to realize it has happened at all. She briefly thinks she should protest such cursory handling but any feeling of outrage is oddly absent, everything strangely dulled. She glances over her shoulder as Esme practically carries her up a wide staircase to the second story, her gaze locking on the tableau of Alice and Edward below; the tiny girl is latched on to his arm, as if only her lamprey-like insistence can keep him in place, golden gaze pleading as she looks up to him in mute communication.

Then Esme rounds a corner and they are lost from view. Skylights above illuminate the corridor with the glow of natural light, abstract paintings on the walls a bleed of color to Bella's gaze. "Carlisle is fetching his kit," Esme explains as she turns into a bedroom draped in calming colors: sky blue, pure white, and shades of gray. Bella is only able to form an impression, taking in no detail as Esme seats her on a bed so soft, she sinks inches into the counterpane.

"But you don't sleep," Bella comments dumbly, her mind unable to register anything else.

Later, she will marvel with relief at how Esme did not lose her patience or simply ignore this inane comment, the smallest smile dancing around her lips before she is tugging Bella's torn sweatshirt over her head. "We like to rest, even if we don't sleep."

Bella simply nods, gaze falling to her battered hands, her mind utterly blank in response.

"How is she?" At the sound of Carlisle's voice, Bella crosses her arms self-consciously, trying to cover the bra whose torn straps barely hang from her shoulders.

Esme is gone and then back, a soft button up shirt like a shield in her arms, her expression so gentle and sympathetic that Bella's embarrassment instantly eases. She obediently rises from the bed, threading her arms through the sleeves backwards so that her back is still exposed to Carlisle's view. He is a flit of movement in her peripheral vision, his voice soft behind her as cool hands ghost over her back.

"The cuts are shallow." He speaks with a mixture of firm authority and calm reassurance. "The skin is only superficially broken—scratches, really."

Bella finally manages to gather her thoughts, gaze rising to where Esme still stands before her. "It w-was Paul, I think," she stutters, this one fact clear in her mind among the chaos of the day's events. Esme doesn't speak, golden eyes so full of sadness that Bella fumbles to explain, to take responsibility for what she has brought down on their heads. "I shouldn't have gone with Sue—it was my fault, I shouldn't—" She can hear the rising panic in her own voice but doesn't know how to stop the torrent of anxiety suddenly flooding her veins.

"It's not your fault," Esme gently cuts her off. The words are soothing and kind and, what's worse, genuine. Her eyes drop to the floor, her voice faltering as she next speaks. "I wish we could have been there—" Bella's lips part, longing to protest, but Esme doesn't allow her to interrupt, swiftly adding, "Alice saw it would only escalate if we'd gone with Edward."

Bella would have burst into tears but for Carlisle's warning. "I'm going to apply some alcohol to these scratches—then I'll take a look at your hands." She braces herself, teeth digging into her bottom lip at the slight sting, then glances down in surprise as she sees Esme's hands grasping her own. Her touch is cool but comforting, and Bella can only wonder that anyone would think these people monsters. She realizes she can't lift her eyes again, certain that if she does, she won't be able to hold back the tears.

But it wouldn't have mattered for they are again moving so quickly that she sees only the blur of white hands and features, the shirt shifting over her arms and shoulders as if by magic, the buttons flying into place before her eyes. Strong hands gently manipulate her fingers in the span of a few seconds, seeking breaks or sprains in the bones before she feels a fleeting touch upon her shoulder, kind words sounding in her ears. "No breaks—only swelling that should go down in a day or two."

Bella blindly nods, unresisting as she is propelled from the calm of the bedroom and back down the stairs. The living room is empty but for Edward's bowed figure, seated on one of the sofas with his head in his hands. Bella speaks before she thinks, simply trying to reassure him. "I'm fine." She intends for the words to have a sense of calm finality, bulwarked by Carlisle's assessment of her injuries.

But it is entirely the wrong thing to say. Edward's messy head lifts, his features shifting from despair to stunned anger. "You're not fine!"

Bella flinches back, a protest ready on her lips—but Alice appears like a bullet fired into the room, launching herself at Edward's figure as if her tiny frame can keep him anchored to the sofa. "You _have _to stop thinking that!" The words issue from tight lips, eyes narrow and angry as she locks small hands around his forearm.

Bella belatedly realizes what Edward must have planned, however, fleeting—and what Alice is trying to keep him from doing. Fear and horror pierce the cloud of numbness that has otherwise enveloped her senses, terrified at the thought of him going back out there, ready for revenge. "Please," she begs. "All I wanted was for no one to get hurt."

Edward shoots up, dragging Alice with him, eyes blazing. "But _you're _hurt!"

"It was my fault," Bella protests as her gaze falls to her hands. "I tried to run away when I realized—" Her throat closes at the remembrance of that desperate moment and she shakes her head, realizing she's only going to increase Edward's ire with her distress. She swallows, forcing herself to explain. "I hit one of them—Sam, I think." Then, lifting her head, she speaks clearly, determined to at least appear unaffected. "If I hadn't gone with Sue, none of this would have happened."

Edward shakes his head, amber eyes wide with disbelief. "If that's true, then I'm equally at fault," he scoffs. Only moments before, he had been thinking this very thing, unable to understand how she could cling to him when he was responsible for bringing these dangers into her life. "If I'd only told you what they were in the first place…" he mutters as he thrusts a hand in his hair. His guilt is compounded by the knowledge that there is no way he will protest if she continues to stay at his side, too selfish to leave her to the safe existence she'd led before.

Carlisle enters the fray, hands lifted before him as if he will brook no further conversation on this point. "Alice, do you see the Quileutes in pursuit?"

A frown forms on her brow, eyes narrowed with concentration…and then frustration "I don't see them coming…" She shakes her head, black hair fanning around her face. "I can see…there are shadows gathering…but on the reservation." Her frown deepens, lips pursing. "I can't see their decisions…only that they're not coming—yet."

Edward turns to his foster father, urgency evident in the vibration of his frame, in the very tenor of his voice. "But who knows how long they'll wait—we can't stay here."

But Carlisle is shaking his head. "I will meet with them."

"Carlisle!" Esme gasps, his name a protest on her lips.

Carlisle turns, his golden gaze fixing on his wife's face, calm and purposeful. "It cannot stand. They kidnapped Bella. They have broken our trust as surely as they may believe we have broken theirs."

Bella is shaking her head. "But I'm the one they want." Her voice is dull as she whispers the words. She wants to cry but she feels strangely hollow, as if the past twenty-four hours have drained her of all emotion, drying up any reservoir of feeling. Her brown eyes grow distant as she realizes with a calm certainty that Edward is right—she cannot remain in Forks.

It is as if Edward reads her mind—though she knows he cannot. He is suddenly before her, amber gaze so intent, she briefly feels as if she can't breathe. "You understand what this means?" The torment in his voice is almost too much to bear and Bella can't resist reaching up to his face, touching his cheek tentatively.

"I don't want to start a war." The words are sad but certain.

Alice's voice is fierce behind him. "It's not your fault. They should have given you a choice."

Edward is shaking his head, eyes squeezing shut as if he can block out this new reality. "I don't want to take that choice away."

Bella hesitates only a moment before she lifts her other hand and presses her palms flush to either side of his jaw, uncaring of how this intimacy might appear to Alice, Esme and Carlisle. "I don't belong with them, Edward." Her gaze drops, the words faltering as she searches for a reason, for an explanation of why the Quileutes had acted as they had. "They were protecting me…out of some sense of obligation to my father…or to territory…I don't know." She lifts one hand higher, touching his hair. "I belong with you."

Edward's eyes sink shut, his head tilting, pressing into her palm as if her touch can provide solace. When his eyes open, they are filled with resolve. He turns, speaking to Alice. "Are you sure?"

She nods shortly, her mouth a thin line. Her gaze shifts, glancing from Bella to Carlisle and Esme. "Alaska."

"Safety in numbers," Carlisle nods, the statement ending with a sigh. "I'll follow as soon as I can—after hotter heads have cooled."

"I'll stay as well," Esme firmly adds.

Bella can physically feel the pressure of everyone's attention suddenly turning to Alice, fixing on the small girl, silently asking her to assure that this course is a safe one—that the outcome will not end in disaster. Alice's eyes grow vague before she simply nods again, her pale face determined. "I can see us all there—at the lodge."

Though she doesn't want to add to Alice's burden, Bella can't help asking, "Can I go by my house first? Can you see…?" Bella knows it's selfish but is filled with a sudden longing for her books, a change of clothes—and one of the pictures from the living room wall, faded and yellowed with time.

But Alice is shaking her head, golden eyes blank, her features suddenly pinched and strained. "I can't see…I don't see a wolf there now…but if you go—" She lifts her head, her gaze clear. "It's only darkness."

Bella pales at these words then nods sadly, resigned. She briefly wonders if this is the norm for the Cullens, these abrupt departures when someone begins to suspect, fleeing so quickly that there is no time to pack, to say good-bye—even if only to things.

But she is not allowed to think on this for long for the Cullens dissolve into a flurry of movement and activity: Alice is on the phone, her speech so rapid that Bella can't make out any words…though she assumes the conversation includes a warning of their arrival; Esme appears with a pair of driving moccasins for Bella's bare feet, flashing a brief smile before she disappears again; Carlisle abruptly stops before her to set down two suitcases, his gaze apologetic as he straightens to his full height.

"I wish I was meeting you again under different circumstances."

Bella shakes her head, recalling her unexpected introduction to Carlisle and Esme several weeks before—it may as well have been a lifetime ago. "But we'll see each other in Alaska," she softly responds.

He nods, gaze shifting to where Edward has returned from bringing the cars around. "Soon," Carlisle adds, lifting his hand.

Bella takes it and shakes it once, surprised that she is able to faintly smile at the gesture. "Soon," she replies.

Then they are gone, the silence of the car so abrupt and unexpected that Bella can't find the words to break it.

Though she leans her head against the seat back, tight tension slowly creeps over her body; every tendon, every muscle, every nerve ending is on fire with the shock of the past twenty-four hours. She cannot absorb the truth of her experiences, of what she has seen and done and heard. So she is silent, forcing her gaze to follow the blur of evergreens as they zip along gray lanes, mutely watching as Forks falls far behind.

"Alice will double back and assure no one is following."

Bella lifts her head as her gaze flies to Edward, trying to accept the fact that the wolves could still present a danger to them. She doesn't want to ask what will happen if the Quileutes are in pursuit. Her gaze falls to her lap, staring down at her bruised hands.

She thinks of Jake, happily splashing in the tidal pools of First Beach when they were all still small. She remembers Billy's hand on her wrist at Charlie's funeral, gently urging her to toss a handful of dirt onto the coffin. She pictures Lissa, head bent over _Black Beauty_, studiously intent as she reads aloud.

"They're werewolves." Her voice is a whisper, her stomach in knots.

To her surprise, Edward is shaking his head. "It was full day when Jared and Paul phased. Last night—it was a new moon."

"So the sky was dark?" Bella is frowning, confused, trying to make sense of what he's saying.

"Right," Edward nods. "And their legends tell of wolves killed in battle with…the Cold Ones."

"Your kind," Bella whispers.

"Centuries ago," Edward adds. "So they are not invincible, injured only by silver bullets." His mouth twists sardonically.

"Then what are they?" Bella asks, unable to hide the fear in her voice.

Edward's head tilts. "Carlisle thinks they are shape-shifters—though we don't know of any members of the tribe taking any form but that of a wolf."

Bella remembers Jared's bent figure, Paul's shredded clothes—the dark shapes chasing Edward through the woods. The sting of the scratches on her back fill her with sadness, hoping beyond hope that it was impulse rather than an intent to harm that had caused Paul to lash out—that they did not truly mean to hurt her.

She is uncertain whether Edward would agree and fears raising the topic to him. Instead, she changes the subject, unwilling to dwell on the Quileutes any longer. "Your family was so kind to me."

Edward turns to look at her, a frown of dismayed surprise drawing his brows together. "You are worth being kind to."

A lump instantly forms in her throat and Bella finds she must look away, blinking rapidly to hold back the tears, gazing blindly at the haze of passing trees.

The Aston Martin zips in and out of traffic, darting off the freeway at intervals to take back roads through dilapidated towns. Edward breaks the silence to explain, "I don't want to risk taking the ferry and being unable to evade them."

Bella wishes she could find his precautions overzealous but her swollen hands discount any protest she might have made. This brings another risk to her mind and she speaks before she can second guess herself. "What about Jasper?"

Edward's gaze darts her away again but his frown is one that is not aimed at her. "There is a cabin some distance from the lodge where he and Alice will stay."

Bella does not know how pale her features become, lips trembling and eyes growing wide in evidence of her internal turmoil. Edward would give anything to know her thoughts but Bella would not have dared reveal them. For she is realizing how often she has taken refuge in those little moments when she could pretend that they were like any other couple, when she could forget the truth of what Edward is. But the danger of Jasper's presence, soon to be far closer than before, can only force home the realization that Edward is not human—and what's more, he is dangerous to her as well.

She could almost laugh at herself, lips quirking bitterly as these realizations course through her mind. After all, Edward has leapt through windows, slammed a handprint into the steel of her truck, and done any number of other impossible things. But it is this, the knowledge that someone like him can endanger her life, that solidifies the truth.

She finally speaks, her voice faint. "It's easier for you."

Edward, who had been tensely waiting for her to respond, knuckles growing white as she continued to remain silent, feels no relief at these words. "I've had more practice." His voice is rough, knowing how callous this must sound. Quickly, he goes on, "Carlisle thinks the longer you go without…the easier it is." He swallows a groan, the truth so much worse for speaking the words out loud.

Bella's voice is a whisper. "Except for when I get too close." She remembers his explanation their last night in the hotel, that it had been too long since he'd fed.

Edward forces himself to relax, realizing that he'll crack the steering wheel if he clenches it any tighter. His voice is equally quiet when he responds. "I hate that. You have to understand—" But how can she? Even now, he cannot quite believe that she is at his side—that she trusts him as she does. "You have to understand that I can't bear that that desire is present in me at all." He sucks in a breath, knowing this must be cold comfort for her. "To hurt you—it would kill me."

Bella can hear the sincerity in his voice—and the torment—that to some extent, it kills him to be what he is. But how would they have ever met otherwise? If he hadn't been changed as he was, in the heat of battle by an unknown predator, he would simply be a mound of dirt in some overgrown graveyard, forever lost to her.

Silently, she reaches for his hand, enveloping his cool fingers in her warm grasp.

Though she dozes, weariness overcoming the tension in her frame, drifting in and out of sleep as they speed along highways and side roads, she never loosens her grip. Her hand follows his to the gear shift, and settles on his thigh when they stop at the border. Fortunately, sleepiness prevents her from appearing suspiciously bemused as Edward hands over two passports to the Canadian border patrol. As she rouses, she wonders if this had been one of tasks the Cullens attended to as they flashed by her still figure in preparation for their departure.

Once they are far beyond the border, she asks to see the small blue folder and is unsurprised to find her own image inside, a shockingly crisp version of her high school yearbook photo staring back with a tranquil gaze. "It helps that so much information is online," Edward regretfully explains.

Bella knows without asking that his regret is driven by this deception, that she is now a part of the web of lies that make up his life. Her lids sink shut as they fall into deep forests again, evergreens spiraling around.

She only drifts from her slumber when she feels her hand being wrapped around a foreign object. "You need to eat," Edward murmurs, glancing down to the slightly misshapen sandwich he's placed in her palm. Bella looks around, startled, trying to shake off the strange lethargy that has seized her frame since those first tense miles in the car. The bright lights of a gas station are glaring in the darkness, but pierce no farther than the oil-stained concrete of a small parking lot. Beyond, there are only dense forests, impenetrable and ominous.

Bella tries to straighten in her seat, marveling that her head should feel so heavy, her hands so sluggish as she unwraps the cellophane from the bread. "We can stop," Edward offers as he slams back into the car. "A hotel somewhere—so you can sleep properly." In the gloom of the car, she can see his gaze is on his hands. "Alice called from the border and confirmed there's no one following—for now."

Bella shakes her head. "No, it's fine. Let's just get there."

She can feel Edward's gaze on her in the darkness but he doesn't protest, simply turning the key in the ignition and smoothly turning the wheel, angling them back towards the highway.

It is day again when she wakes, blinking in the muted morning light beyond the windshield. She exhales with relief to find her hand is wrapped in Edward's. "Are we nearly there?" she asks groggily, glancing in his direction.

Edward's voice is solemn. "We still have more than ten hours to go. But we'll be stopping soon and you can stretch your legs."

Bella nods as she takes in the scenery beyond the windows. The highway is only two lanes, a dash of yellow running alongside an unbroken line. No ditch or rail keeps the forest at bay, bright moss, swaying grass, and spindly pines creeping up to the very edge of the road. Mountains tower before them, a black wall against gray skies. The terrain remains unaltered for miles but soon crossroads begin to appear, indicating there are turn offs to homes or private property beyond the unchanging stretch of highway. Buildings soon follow, then signage indicating they are entering the city of Whitehorse.

Moments later, Edward is pulling up to a large storage facility, unerringly turning through rows of concrete blocks fronted by bright orange doors. Though she knows he doesn't sleep and cannot feel physically tired, she can't help thinking how weary he looks as he brakes before one of the large, anonymous units, and pulls the key from the ignition.

"We'll change cars here. Where the sisters live—" He hesitates, golden eyes shifting away, unable to meet her gaze. "The roads aren't reliable."

"We aren't going to Cantwell?" Bella asks, recalling the address from his case file.

Edward shakes his head. "It wouldn't be safe. The lodge—it's isolated, high in the mountains. Very few people even know it's there."

Bella nods, tamping down a sudden burst of anxiety at the thought of being so cut off from everything she knows. Luckily, Edward has slipped out of the car to open the garage-sized door of the storage unit and doesn't see the mix of fear and worry in her expression. He drags a dull gray tarp off a shapeless mass inside, revealing an enormous Jeep with wheels several feet in diameter. She climbs out of the sports car and waits for Edward to maneuver the Aston Martin into the empty spot next to the Jeep, taking a brief moment to stretch. Edward is swiftly at her side, opening the passenger side door of the Jeep for her. As she hesitates, uncertain how to get in, he softly offers, "Let me help you."

"Okay," she shyly accepts, then gasps in surprise as his hands wrap around her waist, effortlessly lifting her as high as his head. Blushing, she scrambles from his grip into the seat, relieved and disappointed as she feels the coolness of his hands releasing her. Flustered, she reaches for the seat belt and is confused to find there isn't a single lap and shoulder strap; instead, a series of harnesses and buckles hang on either side of the seat. She is still attempting to wrestle with them when he settles into the driver's seat at her side.

"Here," he murmurs, leaning forward, pale hands graceful as he tugs the belts into place. Bella finds herself covertly staring at him, his face inches from her own though his gaze is fixed on the tangle of harnesses. There is such concentration in his features as he secures her to the seat, his movements meticulous and thorough; she is filled with the sudden knowledge that this concentration is evidence of his concern for her safety, of his concern for her. Some of the worry and apprehension she had been feeling eases away, her gaze tender as she watches him sink back into his seat and quickly strap himself in. "Ready?" he asks, golden eyes rising to meet her own.

She nods once, faintly smiling. "Yes."

He turns the key in the ignition and then takes her hand, his grasp firm around her own.

There is nothing normal about these circumstances, she thinks. And there is nothing typical about Edward. But the smile doesn't fade from her lips as they turn into the brightness of midday, wheeling back to the road, continuing their journey.


	28. Joining

Thank you so much for all of your reviews. Your words make my day.

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><p>"<em>I shall never repent joining you."<em>

_Howard's End_

**twenty-seven**

The mountains loom around them in the dusk, monoliths that had risen before them for miles, slumbering giants spiked with stubborn forests and dustings of snow. The Jeep climbs ever higher, bouncing in and out of pits and ruts, maneuvering around boulders and fallen branches; Edward's hands are sure on the steering wheel, gaze fixed on the road. He does not turn on the headlights as the sky darkens and Bella finds she is grateful she can't see more than several yards before them, her eyes sinking shut to match the blessed darkness outside.

But she is no longer tired. Having drowsed away the greater portion of their flight to Alaska, she is now filled with nerves, on edge and barely able to contain her anxiety. The car feels too small, the air too thin. Though Edward had fetched a jacket from a locker in the rear of the Jeep the moment he noticed her shiver, she has not bothered to tug the zipper into place, her hands fidgeting and restless in her lap.

She can no longer escape the reality that she is soon to meet the sisters, one of whom she is certain must have been the one…the one with whom Edward was once intimate. And what's more, it is beginning to sink in that the sisters will be like him, immortal and deadly. It cannot compare to meeting Alice and Esme and Carlisle given she was entirely ignorant of their true nature at the time—it is utterly impossible to know how to feel. What should she say? How should she act? She can't think of the answers and takes refuge in pestering Edward with questions that have nothing to do with the coming meeting.

"Why Alaska?"

Edward's gaze darts her way, brow faintly furrowed with confusion.

Bella continues, trying to explain. "I mean, I know that Forks is constantly overcast. But isn't it sunny here? I remember seeing classmates during ski season with sunburns—all of the glare off the snow…" She realizes she's babbling and lets the words trail away, cheeks warming in the darkness.

Edward hesitates, uncertain of the true meaning behind her question, before he responds. "It helps that the days are so much shorter for much of the year," he slowly explains. "And Alice is a fairly reliable forecaster—we simply stay in when there's any risk of sun."

"Is that why you missed so much school in Forks? Those were sunny days?"

Edward nods. "Right." He shrugs. "And sometimes I simply didn't want to go. After you've enrolled so many times it begins to feel rather pointless."

"Why not forego attending at all?" Bella asks. She knows she must sound a blathering fool but can't bring herself to be quiet, certain that if she lets the silence drag, she'll end up breaking it by asking about a far more risky topic.

"Because," Edward shifts uncomfortably, his voice tight. "Because we forget."

Bella pauses, uncertain where this is leading. "Forget what?" she asks softly.

"Forget how to be." The words are clipped, sudden tension evident in his frame. "I don't have to breathe. I don't have to blink. Being around people…it reminds us of our humanity." He inhales. "At the same time that it reminds us of yours."

Bella swallows, caught off guard by the sudden dark turn of the conversation. She forges ahead, unable to withstand the quiet. "And the earlier you start…" she begins, recalling what he'd told her before.

"The longer we can stay put." Edward concludes the statement, some of the tension easing from his limbs as his shoulders sink away from his ears.

A warm glow suddenly beckons through the shadowy web of tree branches, yellow and bright, and Bella realizes it is the first artificial light she has seen for miles. The Jeep rounds a sharp curve and the close crowd of evergreens abruptly falls back, revealing a clearing that slopes up the mountainside, narrow and speckled with bright drifts of snow. At the far edge, an enormous structure perches, an unexpected mark of civilization in the wilderness. It is much more than a house or cabin, wings fanning out on either side of a main structure, the steeply pitched roof studded with multiple chimneys. As they draw closer, Bella realizes it is constructed entirely of split logs, the rustic style at odds with the grandeur of the building.

"It was built by the forest service," Edward explains as they draw closer on what is now little more than a dirt track. "Then fell into private hands—then was bequeathed to the sisters."

Bella nods dumbly, uncertain what she had expected when the Cullens repeatedly referenced the lodge. But this thought is lost as he brakes before the massive double doors, breath catching in her throat, palms damp with sudden anxiety. She hadn't been able to contemplate anything other than simply getting to their destination, and now that they've arrived, she isn't certain she can budge.

Edward is already out of the car, jumping down on nimble feet and rushing around to her side so quickly he is a blur to her gaze. He opens the passenger side door and swings up to her as if the distance from the ground is nothing. His golden gaze darts worriedly over her pale features before dropping to the harness that has kept her from bouncing too roughly on the journey up the mountain. His fingers are gentle as he releases the array of buckles, his voice quiet as he speaks. "Only Irina and Kate are here—Tanya is patrolling."

Bella's eyes sink shut, reminded all too clearly of Quil's voice outside the door after she'd been prevented from leaving the Clearwater's house. _"...patrolling the border…no sign yet…even if they are faster, we got 'em outnumbered…"_

But she is not given the chance to dwell on this too fresh memory, inhaling with surprise as Edward lifts her into his arms and leaps down from the Jeep, shouldering the passenger door shut behind him. Her arms instinctively wrap around his neck, her heart accelerating in her chest at the feeling of his body against her own.

A voice calls from the house. "Is she injured? Are you sure it was wise to come without Carlisle?"

Bella's gaze darts from the arresting intensity of Edward's features, flying to where light now spills forth from the open doors of the lodge.

"She's mostly unhurt." Edward's voice is wry as he gently sets Bella on her feet and takes her hand, leading her to the two figures silhouetted by golden lamp light.

"Then why should you prevent her from walking?" The husky voice is confused and ever so slightly accented.

"Even you are not such the gentleman," another voice adds, slightly amused.

Willowy figures wait at the threshold, features thrown into shadow until Bella and Edward are nearly at their sides. "Kate, Irina," Edward nods to the two women. "This is Bella. Bella—Irina and Kate."

This time, Bella is prepared for the youth and beauty that had caught her so off guard when she first met Carlisle and Esme. She forces her gaze to remain steady as she speaks. "It's nice to meet you."

Kate, the taller of the two women, quirks a blond brow, a faint smile tilting her lips. "How very kind of you to say so," she replies. Then, inclining her head she adds, "Please do come in."

Bella is grateful Kate turns to lead the way, giving her a reprieve from having to gaze upon a visage so devastating. Irina smiles as they pass, then follows behind; Bella wonders if this is a precaution, carefully guarding the vulnerable human.

She barely absorbs the main room, an enormous living area dominated by a massive fireplace, a bear skin rug spread over the knotted wood floors, leather sofas circling around, before Kate is leading the way down a corridor and up a narrow flight of stairs. "Irina felt it was most prudent to put you in the south wing." She speaks over her shoulder, gracefully turning down another corridor, sconces along the walls illuminating their way.

"Alice let us know you would need clothing," Irina adds behind them. Bella nods gratefully in response, glancing at Irina as she does so. After the initial shock of first seeing the two women, so focused on responding as normally as possible, Bella starts to note differences and details—that Kate is more handsome than pretty, with a Roman nose and full lips, her blond hair straight and neatly parted in the center, while Irina is feminine and soft, corn silk curls messily piled atop her head, cheeks rounded and sweet, a single dimple flashing when she smiles again in Bella's direction.

"We bought food as well, if you are hungry," Kate adds as she turns into an open door, crossing the threshold into a room that Bella realizes is to be hers.

"I-I," she begins, stuttering as she sees it is a suite rather than a simple bedroom; there is a small living area lit by a dancing fire, a wrought iron bed beckoning through a far door. "I think I want a shower more than anything," she finally manages, her gaze flying to Edward's inscrutable expression.

"Then we shall leave you to your ablutions," Kate bows her head.

Bella can't help starting at the archaic word, recalling how Edward's vocabulary had struck her as so unlikely in their very first sessions. Then, remembering her manners, she pipes up, "Thank you!" Her gaze darts between Irina and Kate, who linger near the door. "For the hospitality." She thinks of their sister, even now patrolling in the darkness. Her brows briefly draw together and she bites her lip hard as a sudden thought crystalizes into truth in her mind; there is no tension between Edward and these two women—but she cannot speak for their absent sister.

"For everything," she quietly finishes.

Kate simply nods again, a small smile tilting her lips. "Of course."

Then they are gone, the door whispering shut, the room quiet but for the faint spit and crackle of the fire.

Edward's hand loosens around her own. "I can give you some privacy—perhaps fetch something to eat."

"I'm not hungry," Bella responds too quickly, the words almost sharp. Her hand tightens around his fingers. She does not realize how large her eyes seem, endless pools as she gazes up at him. "Please don't go."

Edward frowns, concerned, but he does not protest. He thinks back to the one image that had been clear among all the blur and shadows of Alice's visions of the Quileutes taking Bella, her golden gaze tormented as she mutely held the picture at the forefront of her thoughts: Bella, alone, curled on the floor of a small, girlish bedroom, back braced against the door as she angrily wiped tears from her eyes. At the time he had stormed and raged at the knowledge that she was locked up against her will, but now he realizes that this was the last time she had been alone—and that she has been in his presence ever since the insane rescue of two days before.

He follows her into the bedroom and silently takes a seat on the mattress as she continues into the bathroom and turns on the water. He had assumed her lethargy, sleeping through much of the drive to the lodge, was the result of shock; he knows it's entirely possible she's still in shock—whatever she might have said on the steps of the courthouse so many weeks ago.

Her voice calls from the bathroom, echoing against the tiles within. "Tanya was the one, wasn't she?"

Edward goes as still as stone, gaze fixed on his hands as he listens to the soft whisper of clothes falling to the floor, the watery splash of a foot thrust into the tub, testing the temperature.

"Yes."

There is a long moment of silence as he hears her settle into the tub and shut the water off. "You cared for her?"

Edward's tone is measured. "In as much as one cares for a friend."

She is silent again and he waits, rigid with tension and fear, uncertain how his answers might affect how she feels for him. If he were human, would this matter? His lips twist. If he were human, they would not be hiding from a pack of werewolves among the few allies his family has—allies who are so limited, so few and far between, that he had found brief relief from his loneliness with one of them. He finds himself speaking, afraid of Bella's continued silence, worried that whatever conclusions she is drawing, the truth cannot be any worse.

"It was a long time ago—decades," he admits. After this admission, he is suddenly at a loss, struggling for the words, for an explanation of why it had happened at all. He shies away from these truths, from telling her that he'd succumbed—to loneliness, to baser desires, to Tanya's temporary appeal. Instead, he takes refuge in why it had been fated to end.

"I thought—maybe I could overlook being able to hear her thoughts, knowing that she was frustrated with my melancholy, or felt uncertain about what we were doing…but would try to make the best of it while it lasted." He pauses. "Or even silly, petty things like her annoyance with Alice for playing a certain song over and over again." His mouth quirks at the memory, Alice's dark head bent over the record player, singing along in her high soprano with the Beatles tune. He goes on, "Or being piqued that her sister had borrowed a hair clip she particularly liked without asking." He stares down at his hands but he does not see, his vision filled with the memory of the final time she had approached him and he had turned her away. "These are the kind of thoughts we all have—but it's impossible to have that lack of privacy between…" He cannot finish the sentence, unwilling to give a name to whatever he and Tanya had once been to one another.

There is the splash of water and he listens for the sound of a towel against skin but it does not come; there is only the soft pad of feet against tile and floorboards and the quickening beat of her approaching heart. The brief thought of holding his breath passes through his mind, fleeting and soon forgotten in the stunned relief he feels that she is not shunning him, is not angry or disappointed with his past.

Then she is standing before him, snowy white but for the tell-tale flush curling up her throat, brown eyes shy and hesitant as her hands fidget at her sides. His own hands itch to touch her, drawn to the pale warmth of her bare skin.

"Decades ago?" Her voice is a whisper, something unidentifiable in her gaze. Edward nods adamantly, desperate to say whatever she wants to hear, to put her at ease, to make her see him no differently.

"Before you were born." He shakes his head now, his voice aching. "If I'd known you were coming, if I'd had any idea…" But her arms are around his neck and he can't resist pulling her close, crushing her to him. He buries his lips against her skin, directly over where her heart thumps in her chest.

"Edward," she murmurs, her lips against his hair, breath warm against his scalp.

"Oh, Bella," he answers, breathing in the scent of her skin, so relieved by the beat of her heart, by her very existence, that any desire for her blood is momentarily utterly absent. "Oh, Bella," he murmurs again, lips falling to her heart again, before trailing to the swell of her breasts so temptingly near.

Then she is clambering onto him, graceless but eager, pupils dilated as she finds his mouth, kissing him with such passion that her lips are bruised when she pulls away.

He shifts, tumbling her beneath him, hands roving over her skin, hungry to feel her, to absorb her warmth and softness, to consume her in a way that has nothing to do with thirst. To his amazement, she is equally hungry, yanking at his clothes, then thrusting her hands in his hair, tender lips moving over his throat, biting at his ear, and drinking from his mouth. "Edward," she gasps, hips instinctively moving against him.

He jerks his hands from her flesh to the bed, fisting the blankets beneath them in an effort to keep from bruising her skin with the force of his touch.

Bella doesn't appear to notice, too consumed by desire for him to sense anything other than flesh and mouth, and the frustration of clothes against skin. She tugs at his shirt and he sits back, pulling it over his head. Bella's eyes widen, taking in his pale figure, lithe and muscled, her body growing impossibly hotter, before he falls back to her, lips at her throat.

"Bella," he groans, longing to touch her but uncertain he can remain conscious enough of his strength to keep from hurting her. Her smell is everywhere, floral and warm and earthy, her body growing slick with heat and sweat, her gaze blissful and vague as his mouth trails over her skin.

"Edward," she answers, then yelps as he shifts again, flipping over so her body is atop his.

Her gaze flies to his, surprised. "I don't want to hurt you," he confesses, his voice low. Her cheeks flush, brown eyes falling to his lips as she softly pants, breasts heaving against his chest. "I just don't want to risk it."

She is silent a moment before nodding. "Okay." Then she is shifting, on her knees as she fumbles with the fly of his jeans, her swollen fingers making it difficult to work the zipper. His hands rise to cover her own, helping her, before falling back to the bed and digging into the worn quilt beneath them.

Bella's cheeks are flushed, bottom lip caught beneath her teeth after she pulls his legs free from his jeans and boxer shorts, momentarily tentative as she curls up to his side. One shy hand trails over his rib cage, a curved foot sliding over his calf. "Should we use…" she begins to ask, embarrassed.

Edward shakes his head, understanding her meaning. "I can't…that won't happen between us."

She nods again, momentarily contemplative, before her hand grows bold as it drifts lower, fingers catching in the hair at the juncture of his thighs before trailing up his length. "Okay," she whispers. She rises up, lips briefly falling to his, her hair a dark curtain around them, before she shifts back, easing onto his hips. He can feel the heat of her, slick and wet against him, so enticingly close, before she rocks forward, mimicking the torturous movement that had accompanied their first kiss in the hotel room in Chicago.

"Christ, Bella," he groans, eyes sinking shut at the sight of her, all roses and snow, dark tresses falling over her breasts.

She rocks forward again, something almost mischievous in her gaze before her eyes sink shut as well, hands curling against his chest. "Edward," she murmurs. She rocks again and again, a maddening, rhythmic movement, until he is begging.

"Please…please…I want to be inside you."

Impossibly, Bella's cheeks grow even brighter, the haze falling from her eyes before her chin ducks to her chest, her hair falling forward to conceal her gaze. Edward freezes, wondering if her hesitation could be due to inexperience; his brow furrows, trying to gather his thoughts. "Bella, we don't have to—" But she has shifted forward, easing onto him, features suddenly pale with concentration and fear.

The sound that emerges from his throat is a mix between a groan and a growl, his hands abruptly clenching in the bedspread, the unmistakable sound of shredding fabric reaching his ears. But it is joined by the sound of Bella's gasp, his body flooded with relief at the realization that the noise is one of pleasure rather than pain. Then she is moving upon him, the motions unsure at first but growing in confidence with every stroke; her hands clench into fists against his ribcage as her body clenches around him, deliciously warm.

It is impossible to distinguish her sighs and pants from his own, his hips rising from the mattress to match her rhythm, an instinctive dance. "Oh…Edward…" She begins to move faster, a tightening spring, head thrown back, throat laid bare to his gaze.

He can barely control himself, dimly aware that his hands have nearly thrust through the fabric of the mattress, metal coils against his knuckles—but the sensation is negligible, nothing compared to the dream of Bella's bare form atop his own. Slick, gasping, flushed, her rocking has transformed into something more urgent, leaning forward as she moans, the tips of her breasts skimming his chest. He growls, thrusting higher, hips lifting off the bed, matching her beat for beat, a haze coming over his vision.

The room disappears, his body arching sharply from the mattress, his mind blind to anything but the softness of her thighs, the scent of her skin, the tight warmth of her body shuddering around him.

Slowly, the world regains shape and substance, Bella's weak breaths reaching his ears, the wood grain of the ceiling beams coming into focus. Edward abruptly freezes, momentarily shocked at the thought that he could have lost control—that he had been so lost to his senses, even if only for a moment. But Bella is safe, curled against his chest, tresses of chestnut hair trailing over his throat and arms. Slowly, he allows himself to release the scraps of quilt in his hands and wraps his arms around her, full of wonder.

He is surprised at the amusement in her voice when she finally regains her breath enough to speak. "If only I'd known when you first walked into the clinic…"

He pauses before replying, trying to keep his voice light, "You would have run for the hills." He thinks of that first day, of the pale, solemn girl who had seemed so unmoved by his rudeness, an unforgivable reaction to the shock that he had could not hear her—and to the realization that Alice had to have known.

But her head is shaking against him, small hands pushing against his chest as she rises up. "I thought to myself," her lips quirk, brown eyes sparkling. "I thought, if you'd smile, you'd be attractive—to girls your own age." He smirks in return, then abruptly shifts, tumbling her over to the rumpled, torn bedding.

Her shriek turns into laughter, a sound he is suddenly certain he wants to hear every day. "Little did you know," he growls as he buries his face in her throat, arms wrapping around the soft warmth of her body.

She relaxes into him, utterly unafraid, a contented sigh escaping her lips. Edward realizes he would do anything to preserve this moment in time, to always hold her close, to feel this happiness.

Later, after he has drawn away from her slumbering figure, pulling the quilt over her bare shoulders before tugging on his discarded jeans and an Aran sweater from the dresser, he settles into one of the wing chairs in the sitting room. The fire has died, a few warm coals flickering in the grate, the room dark but for the glow of a single sconce. He leans back, staring up at the ceiling, lost in thought. He thinks of retrieving a book from the lodge's library, or tracking down the sisters to learn their thoughts on how to best patrol the area…but he stays where he is, listening to the sound of Bella's breathing and the steady beat of her heart.

"Edward…" His name is a whisper, a sigh. He turns his head to the open door of the bedroom, finding her in the gloom. He is unsurprised to see her still asleep, pale lids concealing her gaze from view; after all, she had spoken in her sleep repeatedly in Chicago—about the rain and the trees…or so he had thought, not always able to make out the words.

"Edward…" she whispers. There is no mistaking that it is his name and his smile is brilliant to hear it again—that he is there with her, in her dreams.

"No…" A note of distress enters her voice. "Edward…" He straightens, frowning at the sudden urgency in her voice. "Please," her voice cracks. "Edward!" He is up, flying across the room to her side, hands gentle as he grasps her shoulders.

"Bella," he speaks tenderly, "wake up."

"Edward, please," she begs. "Please!"

He shakes her gently. "Bella, I'm here."

Her eyes flutter open, confused and frightened, before recognition sinks in and she throws her arms around his neck. "Edward! Oh, Edward…"

"You were dreaming," he murmurs against her hair.

"Edward," she sobs with relief. "It felt so real."

"You're here," he whispers. "With me."

He feels her nod her head against him, her breath hiccupping from her throat. Though she grows calm, he lays down at her side, the quilt drawn between them. Bella is grateful he doesn't leave…and that he doesn't ask about her dream. She isn't sure she could have brought herself to tell him, unwilling to worry him more.

But it is some time before she falls back asleep, dawn creeping through the plaid curtains before her breathing eases again. For every time she closes her eyes, the nightmare comes back to her, so vivid and real: the wind whips around her face as she clutches at the window frame, the sky clouded and dark over the tree tops, the wolves closing in on Edward's figure below. She is paralyzed, too scared to jump, too cowardly to take action. As she watches in horror, the wolves descend, tearing Edward to shreds.


	29. Future and Past

And...we're back. Thanks to everyone for their reviews on the last chapter-and for being so understanding about the delay in getting this one posted.

* * *

><p>"<em>All the signs are against it now, but I can't help hoping, and very early in the morning in the garden I feel that our house is the future as well as the past."<em>

_Howard's End_

**twenty-eight**

Eyes flutter open, quickly absorbing the crisp chill of the air, the pine beams above, and the faint smell of wood burned down to cinders in the grate of a nearby fireplace. She is filled with momentary gratefulness that it is not Leah's claustrophobic bedroom, all white furniture and close walls, a brief shadow passing over her features at the thought—before she pushes away the memory, stretching luxuriously in the tangle of sheets and blankets. As she realizes the fabric of the bedding is flush against her bare skin, she freezes in shock, eyes flaring wide. A blush instantly blooms up her throat as memories of the previous night rush back, reminding her of the reason for her nakedness.

A polite cough in the doorway sends her rearing up from the mattress, briefly afraid one of the sisters is checking on her. But it is Edward, eyes cast to the floor as he stands uncertainly on the threshold. "I would have brought you breakfast," he starts, the words faltering and unsure, "but I didn't know if you preferred coffee or tea."

Bella hesitates, waiting for feelings of self-consciousness to set in, to feel some sense of mortification at her tangle of hair and bruised lips. But though blood still stains her cheeks, she feels no regret for what had happened the night before; if anything, her gaze appraises him in a new way, taking in his lean figure garbed in a sweater and jeans, his hair more tousled than ever. What's more, his nervousness, hands shoved in his pockets, shoulders nearly at his ears, seems to short circuit her own; she is only filled with the need to reassure him rather than compound the problem with her own uncertainty.

"Coffee," she finally replies, voice soft. "But I'm not hungry quite y-yet." She stutters on the final word, confidence faltering, cheeks filling with heat as Edward's gaze darts up, meeting her own. He is silent, frowning as he examines her expression. Realizing what he must be doing, she dares to tease him. "Do you think if you try hard enough, you'll be able to hear my thoughts?"

The concentration of his expression shifts to mock annoyance, a low growl emerging from his lips as he crosses to the bed on swift feet and pulls her into his arms. "Are you taunting me—by daring to guess my thoughts when I have no idea of yours?" Laughter bubbles from her throat as he effectively traps her in the blankets, vainly struggling to break free.

"I can't help that my brain is broken!" she manages to choke between laughs.

Edward suddenly stills, his golden eyes intent as they find hers, dark and still sparkling with laughter. "You are not broken," he firmly states. His lips press to hers in a brief kiss, hard and insistent, before he speaks again. "I would have you no other way."

Bella is not able to catch her breath, eyes wide as she absorbs his words. Then, abruptly, she is kissing him back, pulling her arms free from the quilt, hands tangling in his hair.

It is slower this time, more tender, lips and finger tips trailing over skin, savoring the taste and feel of one another. His hands urge her to be on top again, but she is shy in the brightness of day, lying flush upon him, one arm tucked behind his neck, cheek pressed to his.

Later, they shower together, Bella's fingers drifting over his chest and arms beneath the spray, marveling at how the heated water momentarily gives his pale flesh the feeling of something living, almost warm to her touch. His head bows, eyes sinking shut, as if realizing the train of her thoughts. Bella's hands still on his shoulders, instantly regretting giving him the impression that she wishes him human; after all, if he were, they never would have met. She speaks softly, repeating his statement from earlier. "I would have you no other way."

His lips find hers beneath the warm water, his kiss carrying a wealth of emotion.

They only emerge as the water grows cool; she sits on the bed, wrapped in a towel, as he digs out clothes for her. "There's a furnace but it doesn't reliably work—and the sisters don't usually take notice when it's on the fritz." She dons the cable knit sweater and jeans he pulls from the dresser drawers, laughing as he insists she sit on the rumpled bed before he slips thick wool socks on to her bare feet.

Bella is grateful for his insistence as they cross chilly corridors and descend a flight of stairs to the main room she'd only seen lit by fire the night before. By day she takes in the mounted heads of dusty moose and elk, marble eyes staring down at them blankly. She also notices there are no clocks on the mantle or walls, as if time is of no consequence.

As they cross the room and head towards the kitchens, Edward explains that Irina is gathering firewood and Kate is taking her turn patrolling. He does not mention Tanya and Bella mentally attempts to brace herself, certain she will soon be meeting this testament to his past.

As the minutes tick by while he prepares a French press full of coffee grounds and begins breaking eggs to scramble, she gradually relaxes, unable to keep up her guard in the warmth of the morning she is sharing with him. It is impossible to worry when she is laughing and teasing him for his attempts at cooking, or while listening to him explain why even in his human life he'd rarely entered the kitchen.

Later, she will tell herself she should have sensed Tanya's approach in the tension slowly creeping over Edward's frame, fingers clenched around the fork he is using to muddle the yolks and whites. A voice suddenly calls from the door, dragging Bella's attention from the burner where she fears Edward might burn her eggs.

"I was wondering what that smell was!"

Bella is a deer in headlights, too shocked to react to the words given the devastating appearance of the woman who has spoken them. Her mind slowly absorbs that Tanya is stunning in a manner entirely different than that of her sisters; unlike Kate's regal beauty or Irina's girlish loveliness, Tanya is sultry, seductive, every aspect of her appearance intimating physical desire. Blond curls with the lightest tint of red frame a heart-shaped face, her lips a curved bow. High cheekbones and the slight tilt of her amber eyes give her a feline appearance that only heightens the sleek animalism of her appearance.

Finally absorbing what Tanya has said, Bella's gaze falls guiltily to the mug of coffee she's holding and the eggs Edward is pouring into the heated pan. Belatedly, she realizes her hands are trembling.

"Tanya," Edward turns after moving the pan to a back burner, speaking her name in brief greeting. Bella senses tension beneath the word, carrying a warning she doesn't understand.

But the gorgeous woman in the doorway of the kitchen only smiles brilliantly before entering the room more fully. Bella can't help noticing that her stride has a seductive sway, snug jeans emphasizing the curve of her hips, the hem of her sweater not quite reaching the waistband, revealing a sliver of pale belly. She holds out a hand for Bella to shake. "If Edward isn't going to introduce us properly, I may as well do it myself," she declares.

Reluctantly, Bella sets her mug down on the counter, taking the proffered hand. She is proud that she does not shiver at the coolness of Tanya's touch, her chin lifting as golden eyes narrow, examining Bella closely. Then the expression is gone, her beguiling smile returning. "Alice didn't have time to tell us much about you," she begins, tilting her head coquettishly. "But I know I'd love to learn more."

Bella's mouth opens but seconds pass and no words emerge, uncertain where to begin, her heart stuttering in her chest. She has never done well with making conversation with people she doesn't know; given the circumstances, thinking of something to say is completely impossible. Her gaze darts to Edward, and her eyes widen with silent shock at seeing his expression has grown livid, amber eyes fixed on Tanya's face.

"She just woke up and hasn't yet eaten. Perhaps we can save the interrogation for later," he answers for Bella, the words tight with restraint.

She will later regret this reference to her human frailty, that she tires, and needs to eat, and has a million other vulnerabilities none of them suffer—but in the moment she is only grateful he has taken the pressure off of her.

"Very well," Tanya responds, turning away with a toss of her head. Bella's shoulders sag, mistakenly thinking Tanya is going to leave them be—but instead she begins to give a needless summary of the recently stocked supplies.

"This pantry has all the canned goods and pastas." She gestures to the door, eyes sparkling as she regards Bella with a level stare. "Many apologies if any of it isn't to your liking but it's been some time since we've had," her nose wrinkles, "human company." Then, smiling brightly she asks, "Do you ever suffer from hypoglycemia?" Bella's brow furrows, failing to understand. Tanya's smile widens, teeth gleaming as she explains in a consolingly condescending tone of voice, "There's sweets as well, if you ever feel faint."

"I don't think such concern is necessary." Edward's brows are low over his eyes, the words darkly spoken. "Though I'm sure it's appreciated."

"And plenty of meat in the freezer!" Tanya trills as if she hadn't heard him, turning to the heavy stainless steel door. "Though we'll have to be sure if there are any power outages that we toss out anything suspect." Her gaze fixes on Bella, her smile saccharine sweet. "We wouldn't want you to get food poisoning!"

"Tanya." The word is a low hiss and Bella sees Edward has again become all tension and anger, fists clenched at his sides. A realization occurs to her and she inhales sharply, eyes sinking shut…for she is suddenly certain he has been reacting all this time to Tanya's thoughts rather than her thinly veiled words. Given the scornful nature of the conversation, Bella isn't certain she could bear to know the nature of Tanya's opinions.

As if sensing the charade is no longer necessary, Tanya snaps at him, "You don't have to listen if you don't like what you hear."

Edward's response is a snarl, "You didn't have to offer your assistance if this was going to be such a blow to your ego."

"My ego? !" Her features are transformed from seductive loveliness to twisted ferocity as she leans forward, flinging a hand in his direction. "What of you with this hero worshiping human at your side? !" she barely deigns to glance in Bella's direction. "They are for play, Edward, not for forever."

Bella feels as if she is immersed in ice, muscles rigid with fear and anxiety at this sudden explosion of conflict and exposed anger—and at the truth Tanya speaks, her words like an arrow.

Edward's next words are frighteningly quiet, a shocking contrast to Tanya's indignant shouting. "Even Carlisle would not fault me for my actions if I were to forcibly make you leave this room now." He pauses, ever so slightly tilting his head. "So will you make me, or will you go of your own volition?"

Bella does not have to look up from where her gaze has fixed on the white tiles of the floor to know Tanya leaves of her own accord, the kitchen door slamming behind her. Several moments pass in rigid silence, Bella's shallow breaths the only sound.

"I'm sorry," Edward finally speaks, his voice quiet. Bella cannot think what to say in reply, her eyes shining with unshed tears as she lifts her gaze to his.

Despair washes over Edward's features, his hand reaching out to cup her cheek. She shakes off her numbness, speaking quickly as she blinks back the tears, "Don't be." He shouldn't feel regret for the situation—not when it is her fault that they are in Alaska, forced to hide from the wolves. She couldn't have expected a warm reception from his former flame.

After she forces herself to choke down breakfast, he suggests they get a respite from the lodge, hurriedly adding, "Kate is on her way back from patrolling and detected no scent of wolves for miles." Bella also suspects that while Tanya may have left the room, she didn't go far enough to spare Edward the tenor of her thoughts.

"Okay," she'd nods. "Let's go."

Bella clings to Edward's back, breathless with the speed at which he's raced through the park, grateful for the distance they've put between themselves and the lodge. They have climbed so high there are no trees, only patches of brown scrub where the snow has melted; clouds wisp and drift on the high mountain winds, providing limited glimpses of the stark landscape.

His hands, naked of gloves, are hooked beneath her knees; his head is bare as he effortlessly dances over rocks and ice and snow, as if the uneven terrain is no more trouble than a perfectly flat floor. Bella feels like a coddled doll, a burden on his back—but she knows she would not have been able to navigate the rocky peaks on her own. The amount of winter gear he insisted she wear, woolen mittens, a knit hat with ear flaps, a scarf twice the length of her body, and a down jacket, all of it oversized, does not lessen the feeling that she is a helpless child in his care. Of course, when the wind whips against her cheeks, stinging and cold at this high altitude, she is grateful for the layers.

"Here," Edward draws to a halt, his gaze scanning the horizon. Bella can only see the hazy white of the surrounding clouds but doesn't doubt his vision can pick out an astonishing view beyond them.

Nonetheless, she loosens her grip around his shoulders as she realizes they won't be going any higher; the patches of exposed earth have become more and more rare the higher they climb, the drifts of snow deepening. She slides off Edward's back but her hands linger on his shoulders as she steadies herself on the uneven ground. With a start, lips parting, she realizes she feels no awkwardness or discomfort in the wake of the previous night; it feels normal to touch him.

As if sensing her thoughts, Edward turns, a brilliant smile transforming his features. "I wish it was clear," his gaze darts over his shoulder to where the horizon is obscured by the clouds. "But if I take you much higher—" he shrugs, his smile faltering as he looks away.

Bella can guess the conclusion of his thoughts—that the air will be too thin, the temperatures too cold, for her to bear.

Edward's features are painted with regret when he speaks next, gaze still cast to the ground. "I'm sorry."

She shakes her head, opening her mouth to reply, "Don't b—" Then stops short as she feels an eerie sense of déjà vu, reminded of their conversation in the wake of Tanya's appearance.

Edward's chin drops, as if noting this similarity as well. Then, determinedly, he goes on, changing the subject. "Alice called—before you were up—and said there would be sunbreaks today." He turns his head, gazing up the craggy face of the mountain, as if willing the clouds to disperse. "I can't account for what altitude those breaks occur at."

"It's okay," she replies. Her gaze shifts to the horizon, still obscured by cloud cover, then back to the wistfulness of his handsome features. "I'm sure there'll be another time." She tilts her head, struggling to return to the lightness of their first few hours, before Tanya had interrupted their idyll. "Though I'm beginning to think you're going to keep what happens to you in the sun a mystery for as long as possible." A smile flits over her lips, her tone teasing.

Edward's grin is hesitant at first, then broadens as he reaches out a hand to pull her close, body flush against his own. Even through the layers of down and wool, she feels a response to his nearness, her cheeks abruptly brightening. "You really don't fear me, do you?" His tone is marveling, golden eyes bright.

Bella can only gaze up at him mutely, cheeks filling with heat, eyes wide as she silently shakes her head.

Then he is kissing her, lips firm against her own. Bella silently curses the woolen mittens that keep her from threading her fingers through the wildness of his hair. Her lips part to deepen the kiss, her sigh muffled as his tongue darts within.

Edward is the first to break the kiss, groaning in frustration. "If only I could take your clothes off here…" he murmurs, then grins as her blush intensifies.

It takes all of Bella's willpower not to kiss him again, to slowly step away on the uneven ground and take several deep breaths to regain her equanimity. After how abandoned they both were last night, she doesn't put it entirely past either one of them to risk her getting hypothermia if they dwell on the subject.

"How is Alice?" Bella asks, trying to distract them both.

Edward chuckles softly, seeing her intent, but ultimately responds. "As well as can be expected." He pauses before continuing, "She's relieved to be with Jasper again, but worried about Carlisle and Esme."

"But she saw—" Bella begins to protest.

Edward's voice is grim as he interrupts. "And the Quileutes could have a bad day and decide they don't feel so obliging." He squats down, plucking a withered leaf from the exposed scrub at his feet.

Bella sinks into a crouch as well, scanning the invisible horizon with new worry evident in her expression. "Do you ever think…" she pauses, uncertain if this will displease him. "Do you think I'll get to meet Jasper?" She wonders if it'll ever be safe to do so, if there will always be this caution about the man who is so important to Alice.

Edward tenses, going too still in a manner she has become familiar with. "Someday," he finally allows. Bella reaches out a mittened hand, touching his knee. He relaxes minutely, golden eyes casting to her face before falling again to the ground. "Alice is doing what she can, insisting he overfeed to assure his appetite is sated as much as possible. But even so, she saw that if she came to the lodge when she arrived last night and checked in with us before continuing on to the cabin, that the fresh smell of you on her clothing would aggravate him."

"Aggravate?" Bella echoes, not quite understanding.

Edward's eyes lift. "It would tempt him," he bluntly answers. "And though she didn't see that Jasper acted on that temptation, she decided not to risk it."

After a long moment, Bella nods, swallowing.

Nonetheless, over the course of the following week, Alice does come to the lodge, usually when Edward is taking his turn patrolling the surrounding woods. Though neither Alice or Edward explicitly say, Bella guesses they feel she needs the company, especially when Edward is gone. Otherwise, as Bella soon learns, it can sometimes feel like she might as well be by herself.

She is first relieved that Tanya keeps her distance, the blonde's demeanor aloof and detached the few times Bella encounters her in the common areas of the lodge. But she soon suspects that, perhaps out of respect for their sister, Kate and Irina are keeping their distance as well. She eventually sees, though, that the sisters are so incredibly different from the Cullens, it's impossible to guess the motives behind their actions.

At first she attributes it to their age, which Alice tells her is more than twice that of Carlisle. But later she will come to wonder if it isn't due to their isolation, stranded so far from any degree of human contact. Either way, it becomes apparent that they are much less concerned—or skilled—at hiding their otherness.

The first morning that Edward leaves to patrol and feed, Bella decides to investigate the lodge's library, a large space filled with shelves directly off the main living area. Unlike the Cullens' library, the books are a strange mix of nonfiction and technical texts: maps and guides on the Alaskan countryside mix with volumes on local birds and plants, which are crammed next to manuals on roof repair and foundation reinforcement. What's more, all of the books are old, bound in leather or fabric, the pages within yellowed and musty, titles carved in faded gold leaf. It would be obvious to anyone that the people maintaining such a library have not bought a book for a very long time.

As she settles into a leather armchair, a movement outside the lead-paned windows catches her gaze before she's even opened the book she selected on the history of native Alaskan tribes. Her mouth gapes as she sees Irina, garbed in a tank top and loose jeans, feet bare, shoveling fresh snow off the steps of the porch. The jeans are belted with nothing more than a rope while a fur hat with ear flaps perches on her head.

Alice deftly appears at this moment, bouncing into the room with her hands shoved in her pockets. Bella's gaze jerks from the unlikely scene outside the window to Alice's pert face. "Did Edward tell you how the sisters came to be vegetarians?" she asks, her voice brightly curious.

Bella stares at Alice for a moment, trying to make sense of the question, while the fey girl examines the shelves nearest the door, nose wrinkling as if dissatisfied with the selection. "No," Bella finally answers, managing to gather her wits.

Alice turns from the shelves and crosses to Bella's side, neatly folding her legs beneath her as she sits down on a nearby wing chair. Her voice is measured as she begins to share the tale of three women weary with the old world and the old ways, eager for a new life and a fresh start. "Most importantly, though," Alice confesses in a low voice, "Irina had grown attached to one of her would-be victims."

It takes several seconds for this statement to sink in. "Attached?" Bella finally asks, understanding the implication of the word.

Alice's gaze falls, her usually expressive hands still in her lap. "I know it's a terrible way to phrase it. People grow attached to things…a favorite pair of shoes, or a car borrowed from a friend. But it's the only way I can think to explain it. She did not love him—but she was fond of him, and that fondness overshadowed any instinct she may have had to hurt him."

Bella is silent, trying to absorb this news, trying to understand that the sisters had not been like Edward, taking lives near the end, an anonymous angel of death. Nor were they like the other vampires she has heard the Cullens occasionally reference, wild and nomadic, feeding indiscriminately. "They…knew their prey," she whispers, unaware she has gone very pale.

Alice nods solemnly. "They played with them," she admits. It is then that she shares how old the sisters are, that they were changed a thousand years before, and that they are of a far more brutal time: a time when tribal wars could result in a settlement burned to the ground, women and children taken for slaves; when famine was a constant fear, harsh weather marking the difference between starvation and survival; when early death was the norm. As Alice speaks, Bella wonders if it is perhaps this brutality, living in an age of such violence and hardship, that had inured the sisters to their victims' suffering. And perhaps it was the passage of time, transitioning from the barbarity of those dark ages to the discovery and enlightenment of the following centuries, that had allowed them to soften their ways. Or perhaps their methods would have always resulted in this development of conscience, becoming too close to their prey to fail to see their humanity. Whatever the reason, the sisters seized upon the chance of journeying to the new world—supposedly following Irina's sailor, but truly in pursuit of a new life.

Bella listens as Alice lays out the advantages of settling in Alaska, a Russian outpost at the time of the sisters arrival. "Only trappers and natives—and women were such a rare sight that no one would have dared question their presence. They were far too grateful they were there at all!" More importantly, there was plenty of wild life—and no nobles to blame the peasants when a slaughtered stag was unearthed. Even after the gold rush, the land remained remote and sparsely inhabited. However, it was at this point that they'd encountered a young doctor intent on serving the naïve prospectors, many suffering from frostbite, exhaustion and other illnesses.

"Carlisle was here for the Klondike gold rush," Bella faintly murmurs. Though she knows of the Cullens' immortality, it is another mental exercise entirely to place them within historical context, to imagine them participating in the events that she only knows from textbooks.

"Yup," Alice nods. "And as you'd guess, he was positively delighted to encounter others who'd landed on the same methods of abstaining."

Bella's gaze abruptly focuses, her expression intent as she speaks, "And you all must have come back here at some point—after you and Edward found Carlisle."

As she might have guessed, Alice's response is evasive, golden eyes sliding away, the bright cheer of her features shifting to careful blankness. "Right," she acknowledges. "A few times—after Esme was changed, then a bit later when Edward was being particularly moody."

Bella recalls his words from the night before, that Tanya had grown tired of his melancholy. Her lips thin, unable to push away the fear that it is only her silent mind that is of interest to him. Would he be so drawn to her if he could hear her thoughts?

As if sensing Bella's turmoil, Alice goes on, "It was a long time ago, Bella." Her voice is soft, golden eyes sincere as she holds Bella's gaze. "And it was no grand love affair. Really. You have nothing to worry about."

Bella nods shortly. Her fingers, nearly healed, fidget over the worn cover of the book in her hands. When her gaze lifts again, finding Alice's pale face, the seer's eyes are vague, staring into the distance. "Edward should be back soon," Alice murmurs.

Bella's thoughts shift, turning from the sisters and their history to the present. "H-how," she pauses, trying to muster the courage to address the truth of what they are. "How will Jasper cope?" she finally asks.

Alice understands instantly and smiles brightly before airily waving a hand. "I left a change of clothes between here and the cabin. And Edward is going to check on him after patrolling and hunting. It'll be fine!"

Bella examines Alice closely, wondering if this is a future she wants versus the future that is destined to happen. But she remains silent, unwilling to challenge Alice's relentless optimism.

As the days pass, she soon grows to expect Alice's arrival whenever Edward departs, coming to see that they are deliberately doing their best to shadow her during her waking hours. This is partly because the sisters are not adequate company, sitting in an almost meditative silence the few times Bella comes across Kate or Irina when they are not doing work around the lodge, and partly because Tanya cannot be trusted to refrain from petty behavior.

"Oh, were you reading?" Tanya had smirked when she once encountered Bella alone in the library. "Don't let me interrupt."

She had then proceeded to rush around the room, a disconcerting blur to Bella's gaze, ostensibly dusting and re-arranging the books. Edward had returned from feeding shortly thereafter and offered to take Bella for a hike. She had happily agreed to go, not daring to look back as she exited the room, certain Tanya's expression would have been murderous.

But all was not awkward silence or catty sniping. There are moments, snapshots, she will later pour over, grasping at these glimpses of happiness, trying to make them add up to something more. Coming upon Edward in the library after waking from a deep, satisfying sleep, and the smile on his face as he set aside his book and pulled her into his lap. Alice burning grilled cheese in her one effort to cook, nose wrinkling at the smell of charred toast as Bella laughed until tears leaked from her eyes. The exhilarating rush of streaking through the woods, clinging to Edward's back as the evergreens blur by, the scent of pine in her nose.

She even comes, as the first week at the lodge draws to a close, to accustom herself to the sisters' silences and stillness. She thinks of the long hours she had spent alone, either in her tiny office at the health center, or in the emptiness of her father's house—reading, or caught up in solitary chores, or lost in thought. Are the sisters really so different? It also doesn't hurt that the longer she is around them, the more attuned she becomes to their habits and routines: that Kate prefers the Adirondack chairs on the porch at the rear of the house, long legs tucked beneath her as she gazes up at the mountain; that Irina is responsible for the fires constantly crackling in the grates of the main rooms, her figure a blur as she races through the corridors with an armful of freshly chopped wood; that Tanya is partial to the antiquated record player tucked into a corner of the main room, breaking the calm silence with jitterbugs and waltzes, crackling voices singing out verses and choruses from decades before.

Bella does not realize she is swaying in her seat, her book forgotten in her lap as she listens to the music piping through the open door of the library. "You like Strauss?"

Her head snaps up, a blush diffusing across her cheeks as she sees Edward leaning against the shelves nearest the door, a wry smile tilting his lips as his eyes sparkle with amusement.

But there is no mockery in his gaze, his eyes richly gold with having recently fed. "Is that who this is?" she asks. Charlie had only ever listened to classic rock and Renee's taste had always been scattered.

Edward's voice is soft. "It's the Blue Danube." He reaches out a hand and she is surprised at her own lack of hesitation, scrambling to her feet and crossing the waxed slats of the floor to his side.

He sweeps her into his arms, the warmth in his smile contrasting to the coolness of his palm against her own, one hand settling into the small of her back. Then they are spinning, turning in place, the room such a whirl that Bella cannot hold back the nervous laughter bubbling from her lips.

"But I can't dance!" she tries to protest.

"No matter," he grins, twirling her past the shelves, her feet barely touching the floor in the strength of his embrace.

Though she fears loosening her grip on his hand and shoulder and flying from his arms into the surrounding books, Bella tries to relax, tries to enjoy the feeling of grace and speed that comes with letting Edward lead. She manages to drag her eyes from her feet to his gaze, and a flush steals up her throat at seeing the pure admiration evident in his expression.

When the song is over, she suddenly wishes she had relaxed enough to enjoy it, her hands falling away as she bites her lip regretfully. "Thank you," she murmurs, gaze flitting away.

But Edward has other ideas. "Let me show you something."

His hand is firm around her own, pulling her from the library and through the main room where Tanya is changing the record, her expression cool as they pass by. Bella suspects she hears a curse word under Edward's breath but can't be sure—and soon she is distracted by their destination, a small room that looks as if it's meant for storage, furniture covered in drop cloths shoved into every corner.

Edward weaves through the maze of shrouded shapes before coming to a stop before a mysterious block draped in white. He snaps off the shroud as easily as if it were a napkin from a table, his smile brilliant as he reveals the upright piano beneath. "You play?" Bella asks.

Edward's grin widens before he stoops, pulling a bench from under the keys. He hesitates briefly after he has sat down, hands hovering, head bowed. Then he is playing, his voice singing out in a low, pleasant baritone.

_Come with me and leave the noisy crowds_

_Sunlight shines for us above the clouds_

_Please don't turn away_

_Or my dream will stay_

_Hidden out of sight,_

_Among a lot of 'might have beens'_

_A room with a view_

_And you_

_And no one to worry us_

_No one to hurry us through_

_This dream we've found_

Bella is surprised by the sudden tears that prick her eyes, dropping her chin to her chest to assure Edward doesn't witness the abrupt sadness that has come over her. For she can't help noticing that this song, however sweet, is one she doesn't recognize, the jangly tune certainly something out of the Jazz Age she'd once pictured he and Alice wandering through.

Like Tanya's albums, these archaic songs are before her time—before Charlie and Renee's time even. Someday, will he sing songs that are now familiar to her to some frail girl off in the future? Or to Tanya, who will at least have the same memories as him?

Before she can dwell on these morose thoughts, Edward's hands pause over the keys, his head turning to the doorway as if in anticipation of someone's presence. Bella holds her breath, hands shoved in her pockets, expecting Tanya. But it is Alice's bright face that appears, bouncing on her heels in excitement.

"Carlisle and Esme are on their way!" She rushes into the room, pulling Bella into an impulsive hug, surrounding her in the smell of lavender.

"They're safe!"

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><p>The full lyrics of A Room with a View by Noel Coward are here: lyricsplayground (dot) com  alpha / songs / r / roomwithaviewa (dot) shtml


	30. Nothing's Right

Thank you so much for reading and reviewing.

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><p><em>But nothing ever did go right in Monteriano.<em>

_Where Angels Fear to Tread_

**twenty-nine**

Alice is nearly vibrating with anticipation as they wait at the entrance of the lodge, hands clasped before her, golden eyes fixed on the winding dirt track that leads up the narrow slope of cleared land. Though she had announced Carlisle and Esme's arrival the moment the vision came to her, it had been another two days of tense waiting, breath baited in anticipation of some last minute disaster. But Alice's vision had held true; she had burst through the front doors of the lodge only moments before, loudly crowing, "They'll be here in four minutes!" Everyone had leapt to attention, as if they could only believe it to be true, as if they could only exhale with relief, when the two remaining Cullens were safely arrived on Denali soil.

Bella stands between Alice and Edward, her gaze drifting over the sky beyond the tree tops, pale white at this late hour given the long days at such a northern latitude. The smell of evergreen needles is strong on the air, mixing with the sweet fragrance of the four vampires standing around her, Irina and Tanya having joined the welcoming party with Alice's announcement. She senses a heightened anticipation come over Edward, his head lifting ever so slightly, and knows he must be able to hear the engine long before her ears are able to detect any sound. Then Tanya shifts forward, confirming her suspicion. Just as Alice begins a barely restrained bounce on eager feet, Bella's ears finally pick up the distant rumble of a sputtering motor.

Her mouth gapes as she sees her own rusted red truck round the final bend and shift into low gear at the bottom of the slope, a hand rising to her mouth with shock. She senses Edward's gaze on her face but cannot drag her eyes from the ancient vehicle, a gift from Charlie when she'd first moved to Washington to attend university. His voice, gruff with restrained affection, echoes in her ears. _Figured you'd need something for tooling around the city. Should hold up in the snow, too._

She notices that the tires are different, likely replaced at some point on the journey; the bald, gray versions she remembers have been traded for a heavy duty set spiked with studs—a necessity on the rough roads winding up the mountain. As the truck approaches, she is able to make out Carlisle and Esme behind the windshield, features smiling and filled with a relief similar to that of everyone waiting on the front steps of the lodge. The truck finally brakes before them, the engine cutting out and enveloping them in the sudden silence of the forest. Before she can think, Bella has dashed off the steps leading to the lodge, rounding to the passenger side door just as Esme steps down.

But her impulsive embrace is met by stiff arms, Esme's chin violently turned away as if smelling something repellent. Shocked, Bella freezes, her hands pathetically hanging in the air before her in anticipation of the hug Esme clearly does not want. She is enveloped in such overwhelming sadness at this unexpected rebuff that she doesn't fully absorb the sudden movements around her—that Edward is abruptly standing before her, shoulders hunched forward in a defensive pose, that Alice is at her side, an elbow linked protectively through her own, and that Carlisle has wrapped his arms around Esme's shoulders. She cannot tell if he is holding his wife back…or comforting her.

Too late, she sees that Esme's eyes, fixed on Edward with a silent, stricken apology, are pitch black. Bella also sees that Esme's lips are thin, her chest still as she refuses to breathe.

As if responding to his foster mother's thoughts, Edward breaks the tense silence. "I understand." But his stance does not relax, his voice weighted and dark. "Just—please—go feed."

Alice's voice murmurs in her ear, attempting to be consoling. "I think you smell good."

Edward turns his head, glowering over his shoulder at his sister.

"She does!" Alice protests, the words petulant.

Carlisle is murmuring something in Esme's ear, the words too fast for Bella to make out. Esme silently nods, lips still sealed, her chest unmoving. Then she is gone, disappearing into the woods, a flit of pale movement absorbed by the dark of the evergreens.

Carlisle exhales, his gaze shifting from Edward to Bella with apparent remorse. "There was so much to do—there simply wasn't time—"

"I understand," Edward growls, as if impatient with excuses, unwilling to dwell on the situation any longer. "Can we just—move on?"

"Yes," Tanya agrees, her voice snide as she saunters past him. "Let's." She briefly hugs Carlisle, glancing over her shoulder at Bella as if emphasizing the fact that there is nothing problematic in her touch, in her proximity, before turning back to him and asking, "Shall we get you unpacked?"

After the bed of the truck has been swiftly emptied, Bella helplessly standing aside as the five vampires blur past her, they all settle in the main living area. She can't help thinking how everyone's eagerness to hear how the meeting had gone with the Quileutes has been utterly dampened by the unexpected tension of Carlisle and Esme's arrival.

Silhouetted by the flames of the fire Irina has stoked, Carlisle sits in a leather armchair, concern she somehow knows is for Esme apparent in his gaze. Bella allows Alice to pull her down to a nearby sofa, uncertain why the spry girl is still protectively hovering, her thin arm laced through Bella's own. Edward stands restlessly behind them, one hand on Bella's shoulder, while Tanya and Irina gracefully take their seats on another sofa. There is weariness in Carlisle's expression as he turns his gaze to Bella and then Edward. "My goal was to maintain some semblance of normalcy despite the need to leave."

Edward nods shortly. "That is our usual method."

Carlisle nods in turn, audibly exhaling. "I went in to the hospital but notified the police I'd been contacted by your parents," his gaze shifts between Alice and Edward, "that there had been a breach of the restraining order and I was withdrawing you both from school." His mouth twists ever so slightly on the lie and Bella is struck by the realization that the ongoing deception affects all of them—not just Edward.

"In the meantime," Carlisle goes on, "Esme was working on packing up the house and getting all the paperwork in order. Including," his golden eyes land on Bella, steady and unflinching, "forging a letter to the health center letting them know your recent absence due to illness was more serious than you realized, and that you were resigning given the need to focus on your health." Bella swallows, knowing this was necessary, knowing that when she had agreed to come to Alaska she was severing all ties with the life she had led before. She feels Edward's fingers tighten over her shoulder and lifts a hand to his, trying to reassure him that she is fine. "I didn't think it necessary to notify the tribal school," Carlisle adds.

"After a few days, in the hopes that the Quileutes might have had time to come to their senses, I gave Billy a call. While he was barely civil," Carlisle's mouth quirks, "he did agree to meet near the border—about four miles north of La Push Road."

"Where we originally signed the treaty," Edward's voice is low.

Carlisle nods. "Perhaps highlighting the history between us?" His shoulder lifts minutely in a slight shrug. "Esme insisted on coming but it wouldn't have mattered." His pale fingers lace together, his gaze dropping to his hands. "There were more than thirty of them—Makah as well as Quileutes."

"A show of force," Tanya speaks, her gaze flicking over to Bella, her expression resentful. There is no doubt she is questioning whether Bella is worth the trouble.

"Absolutely," Carlisle agrees. "Billy was flanked by Jacob Black and Sam Uley with the rest of the two tribes standing behind. I calmly informed him, though I doubt it was news to him, that only Esme and I were present—that my children had left the peninsula given the recent trouble."

"Trouble," Alice snorts. "You mean their total overreaction and our effort to keep war from breaking out."

"I know, Alice," Carlisle's voice is gentle. "But I wanted to refrain from laying any blame for as long as possible. As it soon became clear," he gestures, one graceful hand turning in their direction, "I needn't have bothered trying. Their issue," his gaze lifts to Edward, filled with solemnity, "is entirely with Edward."

Bella feels Edward's hand shift away from her shoulder and though his touch was cool, she somehow feels colder without it.

"Alice, Esme and I," Carlisle continues, "are entirely welcome to return to the peninsula at any point and time. Edward, however, having broken the treaty, is forbidden from returning—and will risk destruction if he does so."

"He only crossed onto the reservation to rescue me!" Bella can't help interrupting, her voice almost shrill at the injustice of it. "And he wouldn't have needed to rescue me had they not kept me from leaving!"

Carlisle nods, his gaze sad and resigned as it turns to her. "The elders…" He shakes his head. "I don't think Billy or Harry—or any of the elders—think they committed any misdeed in their actions with you. Though I was not able to read their thoughts as Edward could have," he pauses, shaking his head again, lips tight. "Outwardly, they were completely unmoved for the entirety of the meeting. Jacob Black, however—"

"Jake?" Bella can't help asking in complete astonishment.

Carlisle nods. "He asked how you were—if you were alright." His expression shifts, turning rueful. "Billy tried to hush him but I answered. I let him know your injuries were likely entirely healed by that point."

Bella looks down at her hands, recalling her utter terror as pain had shot through them after beating on Sam's chest. She can't resist shivering and feels Edward's hand settle on her shoulder again. "Thank you," she murmurs, relieved that Jake hadn't been left in the dark—and that there had still been concern for her well-being, that she wasn't simply a pawn to them.

"So it's settled," Edward sighs.

Carlisle nods in response then speaks aloud for everyone else's benefit. "Of course we would never return without Edward." His gaze drifts around the room, the fire crackling behind him. "We are a family." His voice hardens. "It is entirely out of the question."

Bella finds herself nodding in agreement but can't help the regret that washes over her at this news. While she knows the meeting between Carlisle and the tribe had gone remarkably better than expected, especially given their fears that the Quileutes might have used it as an opportunity for revenge, she can't help feeling chilled by the finality of it all. Edward's fingers gently squeeze her shoulder but she can't bring herself to touch him in return this time.

She is silent as the conversation continues around her, barely able to heed the words and resolutions arrived at by the group. Alice proposes ceasing the patrols given her growing certainty that the Quileutes are no longer a threat, while Carlisle adds that he'll begin researching open positions at hospitals and universities . Bella can sense she is expected to speak, to offer an opinion, but everything has happened so quickly that it's impossible to contribute.

It is only when everyone disperses, off to unpack, or check on Jasper, or go feed, that she finally rouses. "I think I'll just read for a bit," she tells Edward, her gaze flitting from his face at seeing her own regret mirrored there.

"Are you sure you're alright?" he asks, concerned.

She offers what she hopes is a reassuring smile. "I'm fine."

He watches with an inscrutable expression as she drifts away, turning into the library without a backward glance.

Once among the laden shelves, she finds the book she's been unsuccessfully trying to read for the past week and takes a seat in one of the leather chairs, tucking her legs beneath her. As she cracks it open, her lips twist with the certainty that she has read every sentence at least twice, her mind unable to focus on the words.

Even now, the letters dance and blur before her gaze, unable to push away the awkwardness she feels in the wake of Carlisle and Esme's arrival. After all of the eagerness she'd felt leading up to their return, and the relief she had thought to experience upon seeing them, the contrast between her expectations and reality is undeniably stark.

She is startled from these overwrought thoughts by the sudden breathless appearance of the very person on her mind. Esme rushes into the library on swift feet, lips parted, eyes wide as she sinks to the floor next to Bella's chair. She has clearly not even bothered to clean up after feeding, a stray birch leaf tangled in her caramel colored hair, the irises of her eyes returned to gold.

"Bella," Esme exhales. "I'm so sorry."

Bella is too caught off guard to speak, her gaze fixing on that desiccated leaf, the color faded to a muddy green against the rich honey of Esme's hair. She has never before pictured any of the Cullens hunting for all that she is aware of how they survive. She imagines Esme now, darting between trees, ducking low hanging branches, features intent as she stalks some wild creature, lunging forward once she is near enough, arms unyielding as the animal struggles in her fierce grasp.

Bella blinks rapidly, forcing herself to listen as Esme goes on, melodic voice full of sorrow. "It's no excuse, not having fed. I should not have reacted as I did—I should have greeted you as you greeted me."

Bella shakes her head, forcing herself to focus. "There's no need to apologize," she finally manages to respond, shifting a hand from her book to Esme's own, white skin cool and smooth beneath her touch. "You would have, if it weren't for…" She can't bring herself to finish the thought, hating how her humanity gets in the way.

Esme squeezes her eyes shut, lips trembling. "I could never forgive myself…if I hurt you."

"But you didn't," Bella squeezes her hand, unsurprised by the firm, unyielding nature of her flesh after the many nights she's now spent with Edward. A flush steals over her cheeks at that thought and her gaze drops to her lap. "Everything is fine," she firmly insists. "Please," she pauses. "Let's just put this behind us." She realizes she simply doesn't want to dwell on how fundamentally different she is from those around her. Besides, she can't quite believe, despite Edward's reaction in the moment, that Esme would have hurt her.

When they are later lying in bed, the quilt drawn between their bodies, she can't help asking him about his protectiveness. "It isn't as if Esme would have done anything."

Edward goes abruptly still in that manner she has come to dread, the fingers that had been caressing her bare shoulder suddenly unmoving. Her eyes fly to his, alarmed, but his expression is dark, brows knit together.

Bella rises from the bed, uncaring of the tangle of her hair, holding the quilt to her breasts. "You have to tell me," she insists, her tone suddenly verging on hysterical, her heart pounding with disbelief at what his silence implies. "Did something happen? Is that why you reacted the way you did?"

Edward's lips form a thin line, his hands drawing to his sides and clenching into fists, the muscle at his jaw working. Bella can feel her breathing accelerate, her hands trembling as his continued silence speaks for him. Her lips move but no words emerge, no longer certain she wants to know the truth. Can she trust Esme as she had before? Can she see her in the same way after knowing what she is capable of? Her chin drops to her chest as the realization of what the Cullens are sinks in yet again, silently blasting herself for her naïveté, for her insistence on seeing them like anyone else.

Seeing her panic and sorrow, uncertain if her imagination is drawing worse conclusions than the truth, Edward finally speaks up, his voice low and laced with anger. "It was only once."

Bella's eyes slowly sink shut, blindly nodding at this admission. She tries to imagine Esme hurting someone…but no, she will not be so naïve. She tries to imagine Esme _killing_ someone, taking a life. But it's impossible. Though she is uncertain whether it's wise to hear any further detail, she finally whispers, "I don't understand."

Edward inhales sharply. "It was shortly after she was changed. We were living in Vermont—upstate," he explains, the words tight, as if he is angry that he must speak them. "The house was remote, at the end of an unmarked road. We're not sure where he was going—only that he was lost, and stopped to ask for directions." His voice falters and he swallows needlessly, closing his eyes against the devastation evident on Bella's face.

"We shouldn't have left Esme alone." Bella can hear the fury at himself in his voice even now—though she knows this all must have occurred decades before. "She was new to this life, without experience in controlling her impulses. Alice and I never should have gone hunting while Carlisle was at the hospital."

"It's not your fault," Bella chokes out, watching the play of regret and frustration over his features.

"Carlisle knew—" Edward spits, then abruptly stops short, his eyes hard as he rears away from the mattress, sitting upright against the wrought iron headboard. Bella's gaze lifts to his face at the movement, watching him silently as he struggles for the words, barely restraining his rage even now. "It was the risk they took, deciding to change her. A risk he knew was possible—that in exchange for Esme's life, other lives might be lost."

She has no response, staring up at him with a stricken gaze, barely able to breathe. Edward's eyes drop to his lap, where his hands clench and unclench restlessly, the words sharp as he goes on. "So we left—though not right away as that might have caused suspicion," his tone is self-mocking. Bella longs to touch him, to comfort him, but she has not witnessed him so lost, so dark and miserable, since their first few sessions at the health center. "We buried the body so deep it would never be found, Carlisle invented some excuse for leaving his practice, and we disappeared." He shakes his head before his eyes rise to her pale face, completely unyielding. "So do you understand why I reacted as I did?"

Bella can only nod, completely unable to speak.

Though she expects to feel a sense of fear or unease when she next encounters Esme, the reaction Bella always has when in her presence refuses to subside; she initially feels only warmth and comfort at finding Esme busily putting together a carafe of coffee in the kitchen the following morning, her smile welcoming as she burbles, "Good morning! Edward said you preferred coffee to tea so I thought I'd make a pot."

"I—you didn't have to do that," Bella tries to protest.

"Oh, it's no problem," Esme waves a hand. "We get so little opportunity to try new things—or, at least, things we haven't done in some time." Her smile turns mischievous. "I heard Alice burnt your meal when she attempted to cook for you."

Before Bella can help herself, she is laughing in response. "Yes, she did. As if Tanya doesn't suffer enough with having me in her house."

Esme's nose wrinkles. "Oh, she'll survive."

Bella can't help grinning at this blithe response, then abruptly frowns, the smile dying as her mind jumps back to the conversation with Edward the night before. She bites her lip, a single ugly word echoing through her head: _murderer_. Yet…she fell asleep in the arms of someone who has committed the same acts. And taken refuge in the home of three women who have done similarly horrible things. How can she be such a hypocrite when it comes to Esme?

As if sensing her inner turmoil, Esme's voice quietly interrupts the churn of Bella's thoughts, utterly solemn and sad. "I think about him every day."

Bella's gaze flies to the pale loveliness of Esme's tormented face, an instinctive protest bursting past her lips, "But who am I to judge you?"

Esme frowns faintly, bemused. "Because that's what people do."

Bella's lips twist, her own brow furrowing in frustration as she tries to express herself. "Then I'd have to sit in judgment of my boss, who apparently shares confidential information about her juvenile clients with her gossipy sister. I'd have to condemn Matt, my dad's coworker on the force, for shooting that stupid teenager with the air pistol; the kid ended up paralyzed, you know." She inhales. "Or my mom, who's lucky she only crashed into a tree instead of an innocent pedestrian when she'd had too much to drink and didn't feel like taking a cab."

Esme's voice is quiet, "You know it's not the same."

"Maybe not." Bella's reply is mulish. "But I know this much." Her gaze is steady as she looks into Esme's eyes, refusing to falter. "You would never willingly hurt anyone. It was an accident."

There is a long silence before Esme nods slowly, her lips trembling. Then, as she had the day before, Bella steps forward, arms extended. And unlike the day before, Esme lifts her arms as well, returning the embrace, a gasp that sounds like a sob and a laugh escaping her throat.

And so, in mere minutes, Bella finds her worries and reservations are gone.

But this is the effect Carlisle and Esme appear to have on the lodge, the atmosphere much lighter with their presence. Bella is not certain if this is because the concern that had accompanied their absence is gone, Alice's confidence growing every day that her visions show no shadows. Or perhaps it is because their presence is so calming and warm, even Tanya appearing to mellow with their influence.

Whatever the reason, Bella can almost forget the circumstances behind why she is in Alaska, living so remotely in the wilderness. She always has warm company wherever she happens to be; whether greeted in the morning by Esme with a carafe of coffee and saucer of toast, or flying through the woods clinging to Edward's back, or chatting with Alice in the library, it's rare that she's left to dwell too long on her changed surroundings.

Bella even participates in conversations with Kate and Irina, going beyond the polite greetings or assurances that the fire is warm enough that make up their usual exchanges. This is largely due to Carlisle and Esme's influence, finding herself looking up in surprise as one of them asks her opinion on whatever topic they happen to be discussing…then, before she can think to hesitate, she's agreeing with Kate and Carlisle on how pleasant the back porch would be if it were screened in, or laughing with Irina and Esme about some past mischief of Alice's.

Perhaps it is these conversations that inspire her confidence when Esme draws her into a discussion more than a week after her safe arrival in Alaska with Carlisle. "We should pick up marshmallows the next time we head into town for supplies," Esme suggests as she takes a seat next to Bella. The fire of the main room is aglow, the windows dark and flickering with the reflection of the interior.

"Marshmallows?" Bella asks, confused.

"For s'mores," Esme smiles.

Bella laughs and is about to protest that such a thing isn't necessary, but Alice has tripped into the room, eyes wide with excitement. "I'd love to try making them, even if I can't eat them!"

Bella just laughs again, smiling as Alice settles onto the bear skin rug before the fire, her pale face turned towards the warmth. Edward had left only moments before, off to hunt with Carlisle; she suspects they picked up Jasper on the way given Alice's appearance.

As if reading her thoughts, or perhaps predicting a question Bella has not yet thought to ask, Alice speaks up, "He needs a chance to miss me."

Esme grins, "I have a feeling that happens the moment you step out the door."

"As if you're one to talk," Alice snorts, amber eyes twinkling.

They descend into a teasing conversation that Bella does her best to participate in, yet keep from being the subject of, her cheeks warming whenever she senses the focus shifting to her. While she knows they probably aren't unaware of the new intimacy between her and Edward, the last thing she wants to do is draw attention to their relationship…whatever they are to each other.

Her peripheral vision catches the slightest movement in the shadows and she's surprised to see Tanya settle into a chair in the far corner, her heart-shaped face cast into shadow, her gaze turned to the reflection of the three talking women in the window.

Impulsively, Bella speaks, "You should sit closer, Tanya." Despite the blonde's initial outburst upon Bella's arrival, she has been largely civil in recent days, if always aloof.

But as Tanya rises from her chair, Bella's smile slowly dies as she sees her passive expression transform into one of contempt. Her white hands slowly curl into fists at her sides as she crosses the room. "You're condescending to me?" she hisses.

"Tanya," Alice attempts to speak, likely knowing what is coming next, trying to avert the inevitable.

An icy glare silences the fey girl before Tanya's attention returns to Bella, who tries with all of her might not to cower in her chair. "Do _not_ pity me," Tanya continues, her voice like nails.

Bella's lips part to protest but she is caught off guard by the shift in Tanya's expression, her fury easing, a single brow lifting, her lip curling arrogantly as she finishes. "After all, you will grow old and die—and I will still be here."

"Tanya!" Esme exclaims at the same moment that Alice leaps to her feet.

"No," Bella interrupts, trembling hands raised, not wanting to cause any more conflict than has already occurred for her sake. "I sh-should go." She rises from the chair on unsteady feet but does not stumble as she turns away from the trio of women—Esme stunned, Alice livid, and Tanya self-satisfied. Once she is through the doorway, she breaks into a run, uncaring of whether they're easily able to detect the pound of her feet on the floorboards, the racing beat of her heart.

She bursts into the suite she shares with Edward, gasping for breath, face completely drained of blood, her head inexplicably pounding. Shock washes over her like a wave, partly stunned at the bluntness of Tanya's words, and partly drowning in the truth of her sentiment. For hasn't this been her fear all along? Hasn't this been the worry she has pushed away from the day she and Edward returned to Forks—before all of the chaos and insanity of the Quileutes' interference occurred?

She sinks to her knees on the worn braid carpet before the cold cinders of the fireplace, gazing blankly into the blackened grate. Her mind is overwhelmed, filled with images past, present and future, lips parted as the shock continues to cascade over her.

She sees Carlisle, lips twisting as he refers to the lies he and his family live by in order to exist in the world. She hears Edward's voice, full of regret as he confesses to hating the obsequiousness he must practice, manipulating others around him to keep suspicion at a minimum. She pictures herself, growing inevitably older until it is no longer possible for Edward to simply change his clothes to appear closer in age to her, when necessity will force them to determine some lie—that she is his aunt, or his mother—to account for spending their lives together. She pictures herself gray and wrinkled, glasses concealing fading vision, hands trembling with age, forced to refer to him as her grandson, or her aide, or some other necessary falsehood. She had thought she understood how much Edward hated the deception that marks his life, but she realizes she will soon know for certain herself.

"Bella," Esme's voice is a plea behind her, the door whispering shut as she comes into the room. "Please don't heed anything Tanya says." Her hands fall to Bella's shoulders, sinking down on the floor next to her.

Bella can only frown, her voice dull as she replies, "But…she's only speaking the truth."

Esme's lips part as if she might respond—but ultimately she remains silent, her golden eyes falling to her lap.

Bella inhales, absorbing the faint scent of lavender that seems to accompany the vampires wherever they go, focusing on the necessary movement of oxygen in and out of her lungs. When she finally speaks, her voice is a cracked whisper, desperate for answers to the dilemma of her future with Edward.

"You were human with Carlisle once." Her gaze is fixed on Esme, unaware of the intensity of her stare.

Esme sucks in a needless breath, amber eyes searching Bella's pale visage for some hint of the girl's thoughts. Finally, knowing the truth is unavoidable, she exhales as she responds. "Yes, I was." She pauses. "And I'm human no longer."

Esme's face turns to the grate as if she cannot meet Bella's gaze, her voice soft with memory. "I was certain he was an angel." She shakes her head. "Later, I suspected I'd hallucinated—or perhaps been so desperate in the wake of my husband's treatment that I'd unfairly imposed this fantastic image on the poor doctor sent to treat me."

"Your husband?" Bella starts, a frown flitting across her brow. She had never imagined Esme might have been married before—that, unlike herself, Esme might have had a life to leave behind in joining the Cullens.

Esme simply nods, her gaze unwavering from the ashes in the grate. "My parents felt he was a good match. When I realized they would not support my desire to become a teacher, I agreed to marry him."

As Esme goes on, Bella's lips part with horror. "The first time he hit me it was because dinner wasn't ready. But as time went on, he no longer pretended to find a reason."

"Esme," Bella breathes. "I didn't mean to—"

But Esme is shaking her head, caramel hair shifting over her shoulders, eyes tightly shut against Bella's protest. "You shouldn't apologize. It's only fair for you to know."

Bella bites her lip, struggling to remain silent as Esme continues. "We moved away from my family. I suspect Charles was motivated by the idea that if I had someone to run to, I might try to leave him. Or that if my family knew the extent of how he treated me, they might encourage me to come home. Either way, we moved from Columbus to Youngstown, then Winchester…and finally Providence."

She falls silent, shoulders hunched, eyes tightly shut; the pale oval of her face is turned away, nearly concealed by the fall of her hair. Bella imagines the Hostas Esme had once insisted she see in that carefully tended garden on the creek bank, white buds hidden by day. As the silence continues, Bella speaks, her voice soft. "Why so many moves?"

Esme's lips briefly thin. "Charles drank and rarely held a job for long." She inhales deeply, her fingers lacing together in her lap. "It was in Providence that I took a fall down a flight of stairs." Her lips twist on the words and Bella is filled with the icy certainty that the fall was not an accident. "My leg was broken in two places and a local doctor was fetched to set the bone."

"Carlisle," Bella whispers.

Esme nods, her lashes fluttering as if seeing the memory in her mind's eye. "I thought I was dreaming. This golden angel was delivering me from the nightmare of my life. He was so kind and gentle…and somehow, I felt he understood the truth of my circumstances." Esme's eyes close as she recalls the deep frown that had crossed Carlisle's features as he examined her. It was only in retrospect that she realized he must have been able to detect the old bruises and healed fractures from past beatings.

"Then…something happened and I was certain that Carlisle knew the truth, that he was following me, looking over me." Her golden eyes are wide with the memory. "I was preparing dinner for Charles when I heard him storm into the kitchen. I turned, bracing myself—but suddenly Carlisle was there, in our house, standing between us, his face like thunder." Esme shakes her head, her eyes sinking shut again. "Charles was all bluster, preparing to shove Carlisle aside. But Carlisle grabbed his wrist and Charles was suddenly on the floor, screaming in pain. And Carlisle looked horrified." She inhales, shoulders lifting with the movement. "I later found out Carlisle only intended to talk to Charles, to try to reason with him." Her lips tilt wryly. "Little did he know."

She pauses, lost in thought, before continuing. "Carlisle later told me he was appalled that he'd been so overcome by emotion. He'd never lost control like that before and it terrified him, especially given, as he argued with himself at the time, that he barely knew me." Her smile is more genuine now. "It isn't as if either one of us knew what was to come."

Then her smile falters, her gaze filled with such loss that Bella can't help lifting a hand to grasp Esme's own. She isn't certain at first that Esme registers the touch until she feels the slightest squeeze. Finally, Esme continues speaking. "I prayed for Carlisle to come back. I devised ways of escaping Charles, plotting and planning for days when I imagined he might be gone for more than a few hours at work. I managed to find out from the fishmonger where the local doctor lived, and had begun stockpiling food in the instance that Carlisle turned me away." Her voice cracks when she next speaks, "Then I found out I was pregnant."

Bella can't help her soft exclamation, "Oh, Esme."

But Esme simply shakes her head at this sympathy, lips a thin line, eyes stricken as she gazes into the black ashes of the grate. "I was nearly four months along when I…I had another fall down the stairs." Intense grief rolls off of her in waves, the words a sob as she goes on, "I begged Charles to take me to the doctor, to save our baby…but he refused, telling me it was what I deserved, that I wasn't fit to be a mother…"

Bella doesn't realize there are tears on her own cheeks until she feels the soft touch of Esme's fingers, gently wiping them away. Her melodic voice is calm as she continues, "All of my plans went out the window then. Charles left that night to drink at the local tavern. Weak as I was, I threw on my overcoat and fled the house, determined to find Carlisle."

Esme can't imagine how she must have appeared to him, pale with blood loss, hair wild around her shoulders, the hem of her night dress visible beneath the heavy overcoat as she banged on his front door. His nostrils had flared at the sight of her and she had only later learned that he could smell the fresh blood that stained her dress, evidence of her loss.

"He tried to turn me away," Esme's voice is soft. "He told me I didn't understand, that he was dangerous." Esme shakes her head. "But I knew he wouldn't hurt me and I told him so. I said I knew there must be something different about him—that he'd appeared so suddenly in my house, and fractured Charles' wrist without breaking a sweat—but I didn't care. I knew he was a good man and would never hurt me."

Esme's eyes drift shut, remembering how he'd sunk to his knees, arms wrapped around her waist, shaking as he held her close.

"We left Providence that night. Even if Charles had been willing to let me go, the scandal of a young wife leaving her husband would have brought too much scrutiny. So Carlisle packed his bags and we headed east—to New Bedford."

"Where Alice and Edward found you," Bella whispers.

Esme nods and it is the first time in what seems to be an eternity that she smiles, the expression revealing so much of what she feels for her adopted children. "Carlisle was so worried, having us all under the same roof…as was Edward. But Alice was so sure everything would be okay—that we would all rub along together somehow." Bella can't help smiling now as well, thinking of the tiny force of nature and her influence on all of them.

Esme's smile falters, sadness filtering into her gaze again as she softly continues. "And everything was fine—until I fell ill." Bella doesn't realize her hand has tightened again around Esme's own until she feels the reassuring returning squeeze of her fingers. "It was consumption—tuberculosis as you now call it." Esme's eyes drift shut, recalling how Carlisle had blamed himself, certain he'd brought the strain home from a sick patient. "We did everything that was recommended but it soon became clear I'd have a few years at best. The family relocated for me—to be near the sanatorium in the Catskills where I was to take the air and rest."

She shakes her head. "I couldn't believe I was going to lose Carlisle so soon after I'd found him—that we'd only had six years of happiness before this illness was going to take me away from him. I felt cheated and sad and so angry." She inhales. "It was Carlisle who proposed the idea. He was so hesitant, so certain I couldn't possibly accept an existence he considered a curse. And it was Alice who confirmed it was already a foregone conclusion—that I would become like them."

"So he changed you," Bella murmurs. It is in this moment that the thought occurs to her, wondering if this could somehow be a part of her future…but it seems so soon given the brief time she and Edward have been together. Eternity…her hands tremble at the thought, entirely uncertain this is something Edward could want.

"Not right away." Esme's brow furrows. "Edward saw the future that Alice predicted and he was appalled Carlisle and I would even contemplate such an idea—that I could want the unnatural misery, as he called it, of being what they were." Bella's heart stills in her chest, abruptly frozen as she listens to Esme speak. "There was a huge fight—he and Carlisle nearly came to blows. And when it became clear that the decision had been made, he left."

"He left?" Bella echoes, the words faint. "But you—you and Alice and Carlisle—mean so much to him!" Knowing the story as she does of the lonely, bitter existence he'd led before stumbling upon Alice in that misty field in Mississippi, she can scarcely believe it.

Esme nods. "I know. We begged him to stay. But Edward's one condition for doing so was for Carlisle to abandon the idea of changing me, which he was completely unwilling to do." She inhales. "Eventually, Edward returned to us—but I suspect it was due more to loneliness than acceptance of our decision." Her gaze is sad and full of regret as it darts to Bella's face, "And as you know, one of his arguments against our decision came to pass—a life was lost in exchange for mine."

Bella can only nod blindly, blinking back the sudden tears that have filled her eyes. "Oh, Bella," Esme murmurs. "Please don't cry. We're all together now."

"But he left," Bella chokes, struggling to blink back the tears.

"Yes," Esme nods, her hand tightening around Bella's own. "Edward can be stubborn as a mule sometimes."

Bella simply shakes her head, the words gasping forth, "He would never change me then, would he?" It had never occurred to her before now—it had never crossed her mind. Yet she cannot escape the devastation of learning in the same instant that such a thing might be possible, that the door to it is utterly closed to her. She can barely breathe as despair weighs on her chest.

She's barely admitted to herself the complications the future must hold if she and Edward are to remain together, shying away from the topic whenever it's surfaced in her mind. Perhaps she's known all along that in addressing the impossibility of sharing their lives, she would have to accept the inevitability of failure—whatever optimism Alice might have. Tears brim from her eyes, unable to hold them back.

Esme frowns, regarding Bella carefully. "I don't know. Would you allow yourself to be changed?"

But Bella can only shake her head, her voice bitter as she answers, "Does it matter? He wouldn't do it." Fresh tears spring forth as she adds, "This is a pipe dream. There is no future for us...not really." She releases Esme's hand to angrily wipe at the tears coursing down her cheeks.

Esme's hand is on her shoulder, her touch insistent. "Don't say that. Oh, Bella, I meant to make you feel better, not worse!"

Her arms are around Bella's shoulders in a reassuring embrace, but Bella can't get over the cold, hollow feeling that suddenly envelopes her, chilling her to her core.

That in one way or another, she and Edward are doomed.


	31. Crisis Never Comes

Thank you for reading.

* * *

><p><em>Actual life is full of false clues and sign-posts that lead nowhere. With infinite effort we nerve ourselves for a crisis that never comes. The most successful career must show a waste of strength that might have removed mountains, and the most unsuccessful is not that of the man who is taken unprepared, but of him who has prepared and is never taken…It assumes that preparation against danger is in itself good, and that men, like nations, are the better for staggering through life fully armed.<em>

_Howard's End_

**thirty**

Bella is taken back to those first sessions with Edward, the probing questions which she'd avoided and ignored, the tense silences, the dark stares. Though she has exchanged the cramped white room, lonely fluorescent bulb flickering overhead, for the warm glow of yellow sconces and rich wood paneling, her mind repeatedly drifts back to those first meetings.

"Everything is fine." She doesn't want to talk about Tanya's bitter, truthful outburst, or her conversation with Esme afterwards. Edward's pale face examines her, dark eyes considering her closely; she tenses, anticipating another question—but he turns away, as if knowing she will simply stonewall.

Bella's gaze ducks back to her book but her attention is elsewhere, unable to focus on the text on the page. Her mind turns over a dozen questions she has asked herself repeatedly since the night of her poignant conversation with Esme, a conversation she feels she revisits at least hourly. Can she stand the knowledge that one day her appearance will have aged enough that she and Edward will have to manufacture some lie to remain together? Is it presumptuous to assume they will be together long enough to necessitate such a falsehood? Could Edward possibly be convinced to change her if they were together long enough?

But it feels impossible to raise such questions to him. She scoffs at her own desire to broach a topic as serious as the future, as eternity, reminding herself she and Edward met less than two months before. Then a corner of her mind whispers that the brief time has been so intense, perhaps her desire to speak of the future is understandable…before her doubts surface again, silently shouting down this argument with the truth of her frailty, of her silent mind, of the impossibility that he could have any lasting interest in her.

This turmoil is largely hers alone in the first days following Esme's quiet confession for the lodge is all distraction with Tanya's departure. Like everyone, Bella is intensely curious as to what Alice must have said to drive the proud blonde away. She imagines Alice had a vision of intense conflict, snarling voices and words so hateful that the sisters and the Cullens were forever estranged. Or perhaps Alice had seen Edward physically attack Tanya, unable to restrain his anger, and Tanya had fled to avoid a battle she could not win. Whatever words were exchanged, Tanya was gone before Edward and Carlisle returned from hunting, disappearing into the darkness of the surrounding woods.

"Alice told me she's gone to Barrow," Esme had stated the following morning, her tone matter-of-fact.

"Barrow?" Bella repeated the name in confusion, dumbly watching as Esme prepared the carafe of coffee she insisted on making each morning as part of Bella's breakfast.

"There is an oilman there," Kate's voice was husky behind her and Bella turned, bracing herself for recriminations or accusations from Tanya's regal sister. But Kate's pale face was impassive as she explained, "She passes the time with him on occasion." Bella's expression remained wary but the tall blonde simply shrugged, lips quirking. "We all need a break at times." Then, changing the subject, her gaze cast about the kitchen as she asked, "Are we in need of any supplies? Irina may be making a trip into town soon and I want to assure our list includes provisions for you."

Seeing Bella's continuing disorientation, Esme had begun to rattle off a list of items she'd noticed were low. Staring at her feet, Bella could only accept that the sisters did not blame her for Tanya's disappearance, ever rational, distant as they were from the strife and emotion of human experience.

Regardless of Irina and Kate's indifference, Bella initially feels guilty at having driven Tanya away—at having been the source of conflict yet again. She longs to ask Alice what she had seen to so affect Tanya's behavior…but in the following days, it soon becomes clear that Tanya is not the only one keeping her distance.

Bella initially thinks she is the only one Alice is avoiding—that the fey seer no longer visits the lodge on her account alone, likely able to see the barrage of questions Bella is dying to ask. But she overhears a conversation between Esme and Edward on the third day of Tanya and Alice's absence that leads her to think otherwise.

"She told me nothing, Edward."

Bella sits as still as possible, forcing her gaze to remain fixed on the book in her hands as she listens to Esme's voice in the main room.

"But she at least allowed you to see her! I get to the cabin only to find out from Jasper that she left hours before—likely when she saw my decision to visit in the first place. Why would she avoid me?"

"Whatever the reason, she hasn't shared it with me." Esme's voice is gentle and tinged with something more, some meaning Bella doesn't understand.

Edward's reply provides a clue, Bella's brows lifting as he speaks. "You know she usually just recites some annoying song to keep me out of her thoughts—what could be so momentous that she would avoid me entirely?"

Esme doesn't respond but Bella can't help wondering with him. And it's now obvious why Alice hadn't shared the reason for her absence with Esme; whatever she's hiding, it's significant enough that were she to share it, Edward would instantly read it in anyone's thoughts.

It is that night, with the mystery of Tanya and Alice's absence and avoidance weighing on everyone that Edward first broaches the topic, interrupting Bella in the library. "What happened? Besides, as I've gathered, Tanya saying something horrific?"

Bella forces herself to meet his gaze, brown eyes steady as she thinks of Esme's words, as she thinks of her own doubts and fears, as she takes in the worried, frustrated emotions dancing over Edward's features. She realizes that he doesn't know the full brunt of the conversation she'd had with Esme, or that if he does, it does not strike him as significant enough to have caused him concern.

"I know as much as you," she finally speaks, her voice soft.

Edward's brow furrows, lips twisting. "I just have no idea why Alice would stay away." His lips thin. "It's so unlike her."

Bella's gaze returns to her book, a shoulder lifting in a casual shrug. "I wish I knew, too."

She can nearly feel the waves of frustration rolling off Edward's frame at her careless words but does not lift her eyes to see his hands curl into fists before jerking through his hair, pulling at the messy strands.

"Is everything okay?" he finally asks, one last attempt, the words seeming to catch in his throat.

Bella doesn't hesitate. "Everything is fine."

It is hours before she sets her book aside but only a handful of pages have been turned to mark her progress through the text. She retreats from the library, making her way through the shadows of the main room, glancing towards the red glow of the fire as she passes through. She is unsurprised to find no one camped around its warmth. After all, she is the only one who feels the chill of the evening air.

She feels like a she's caught in a dream as she traces a path down the corridors of the lodge, the wood paneling familiar and yet foreign, her feet softly padding over the floorboards. She flicks on the light as she comes to the suite she shares with Edward, drifting into the bedroom to undress. Standing next to the bed she and Edward share to do anything but sleep, she shucks off her jeans and sweater, sighing with the weariness that seems to press on her shoulders. The click of the door closing alerts her to his presence, turning on her heel, arms rising to wrap around her bare torso.

He says nothing as he approaches her, dark head tilted, gaze inquisitive. She senses in his expression that determination and frustration that indicates he is trying for the millionth, futile time to penetrate her thoughts, to hear something besides silence.

"Are you going to sleep?" he asks as he draws near, hands at his sides.

Bella's mouth opens but no words emerge. She has yet to retire without him, either finding him already reclining in the bed, a book in hand…or trailing moments behind her, following the sound of her heartbeat into these private rooms. What should have changed to prompt this question from him?

"I-I...I always go to bed with you," she whispers, her eyes large and fearful as she gazes up at him. Will he punish her for her evasiveness by making her fall asleep alone?

But his fingers are at her cheek, tender though his gaze is still frustrated, a deep line between his brows. She is filled with the brief, intense temptation to tell him, to confess her thoughts and anxieties, to reveal exactly what Tanya had said, and how Esme had shared her tragic history. She longs to tell him everything, her frustration with her lack of connection with Charlie, and her guilt in the wake of his death, the awkwardness she always experienced among the tribe, though she should have been one of them, should have belonged. Tears shimmer in her eyes, lips trembling as she wrestles with the desire to let him know her…but once he knows, what can keep him with her?

As if sensing this inner battle, Edward's lips fall to hers, gentle and sweet, his hand cupping her jaw then sinking to the nape of her neck, pulling her close.

Bella does not resist, loosening the protective fold of her arms to wrap around his waist. She sighs as the kiss deepens, his lips pressing forcefully to her own, fingers tightening against the flesh of her neck. His body is flush against hers and then propelling her back, his hands falling to her spine to keep her from stumbling.

She gasps as she falls back onto the bed, bereft of his kiss, unaware of the flush of her cheeks and throat and breasts. But Edward is tearing off his clothes, his body atop her own seconds later, his mouth at her jaw, passing roughly over her lips before falling to her collar bone, then the sensitive tips of her breasts. Her hands rise, threading through his hair—but he abruptly captures her wrists, pinning her arms to the mattress.

Bella's eyes flare wide, caught off guard by the movement, too startled to struggle. But his lips are still moving over her nipples, lapping, suckling, teeth catching against the sensitive flesh. A moan escapes her throat, fingers fluttering with the desire to caress him in return, to feel the silk of his hair, the muscles of his bare back, the cool smoothness of him.

But he does not release her, his hands like manacles as his mouth drags over her skin, trailing down the pale flesh of her belly to the juncture of her thighs. Bella's gasps soon become cries, head thrown back as she helplessly flails in his grasp, brown eyes wide and unseeing as she pants for air.

"Edward, please…" she begs, desperate to touch him.

But it is minutes more that his mouth moves over the heated center of her, her cries turning hoarse and desperate as her muscles clench and shudder, clench and shudder. Only when she is limp and drenched in sweat does he shift, legs between her own, hovering above her. She is drawn from the warm haze of physical sensation, a faint frown passing over her brow at the realization that he has no intention of shifting their positions, that she will not be on top as she always has in the past.

But his lips are on her own and she cannot think, cannot breathe, gasping under the punishing force of his kiss. A flare of anger mixes with the desire and passion he's engendered with his touch, thinking how he's always been the one to insist she be above him, that it was always his concern for her safety, his anxiety about his strength, that decided the issue. She presses back into him, longing to kiss him so hard it leaves bruises on his lips, frustrated by the impossibility of such a thing. She nips at him, uncaring if she hurts herself, chest heaving against his, fists straining in his grasp.

And then he is inside her, hips rocking against hers, a deep groan bursting from his mouth. She struggles to meet his thrusts, determined to match his movements…but she swiftly loses herself to sensation, unable to focus on anything but for the pale, gasping face above her. His forehead furrows as he moves faster, another groan escaping his lips before his hands abruptly release her, falling to her hips, forcefully driving into her.

"Edward!" she cries, clutching at the mattress beneath her, overcome by the power and intensity of him.

A growl is her only response and she cannot help squeezing her eyes shut as her body coils ever tighter, spiraling higher. Her spine stiffens, a final cry escaping her throat.

But Edward continues moving, relentless, eyes dark and focused before his lids sink shut, concealing his gaze from her. His hands suddenly release her hips, fisting in the sheets beneath them, before a strangled groan sounds form his throat. "Bella…" His final thrust pushes her body into the mattress before he falls limp, his body cool against her heated skin, her heart sounding against the silence of his rib cage.

They both lay silent, unmoving, until Edward finally shifts away, his voice rough, "I don't want you to get cold…" He draws the rumpled quilt between their naked bodies as he falls back to the mattress. Bella is still a moment, staring blankly at the ceiling—before she realizes her eyes are slowly filling with tears. She turns over, her back to him, hiding her sorrow.

The following week does not see Alice surface but Bella notices that Edward is rarely absent from the lodge, his eyes slowly darkening with the passing days. She wonders…is he hoping to catch Esme or Carlisle or one of the sisters in an unguarded moment, when their thoughts might reveal exactly what had transpired the night Tanya had left? Then she recalls how black his eyes had been when they'd first met, how she'd been mystified at someone so fair having eyes so dark. She wasn't exposed to the rich gold hue his eyes could take until their third session, when Alice had accompanied him to the center. But after their encounter in Port Angeles, his eyes were black again when she insisted on seeing him, ambushing him in his own home.

"Does he not…feed when he's frustrated…or unhappy?" Bella works up the courage to ask this of Esme on a windy day, branches tapping against the window panes. She's certain Edward won't be able to hear as he departed moments before in another effort to track down Alice at the cabin she shares with Jasper.

Esme's expression is surprisingly disapproving when she lifts her head from the button she is sewing onto one of Carlisle's shirts. She pauses a moment before speaking. "What is going on between you two?"

Bella's gaze instantly darts away. "What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean." The gentle lilt of Esme's voice is transformed into insistent firmness, her brow furrowing as she sits forward in her chair. "The tension between the two of you—you shouldn't let Tanya drive a wedge between you."

Bella's gaze remains fixed on her lap but her voice is mutinous. "This isn't about Tanya."

"Then what is it about?" Esme sounds exasperated, her eyes wide and beseeching as she regards Bella's downturned face.

But Bella can't bring herself to tell Esme that it was her story, her decision to risk eternity and remain with Carlisle despite the death sentence of her illness, that weighs on Bella's mind. Esme has always been so kind, so welcoming; even now, Bella can sense the desire in her to help, to do whatever she can to make things right. But if Esme wasn't able to change Edward's mind decades ago—if he was willing to risk the isolation and loneliness he'd known before finding Alice and joining the Cullens, then what could change his mind now?

"Just forget I asked."

But with Esme's words, Bella begins to sense the oppressiveness of the atmosphere in the lodge, that there are too many tense silences and dark stares, Edward's eyes growing blacker by the day. Occasionally, the quiet is broken by somber notes ringing out from the piano upstairs, Edward's figure hunched among the white shapes of shrouded furniture as he plays songs she doesn't recognize.

It has been five days since Tanya's disappearance, and nearly a month since Bella and Edward first arrived to the lodge when Bella finds Irina in the main room tugging hiking boots onto her feet. Knowing shes usually goes barefoot to hunt, Bella can't help asking, "Are you going into town for supplies?" She notices Irina is also more typically garbed in jeans and a sweatshirt, a worn parka on her shoulders, blond curls caught up in a rubber band atop her head.

She nods, a faint smile passing over her lips. "Down the mountain into Healy."

Bella sucks in a breath. "Could I follow you down in my truck?" She realizes she's only ever left the lodge in Edward's company and is suddenly desperate for a break from her surroundings. "Just to explore…" she weakly adds. "Get some air."

Irina shrugs but Bella sees Carlisle and Esme have lifted their heads from the game of chess they were playing before the fireplace. Carlisle's gaze is concerned. "Are you certain that's a good idea?"

Bella drags a hand through her hair, her gaze darting away. "There's no threat of the Quileutes any longer, right?"

Carlisle nods reluctantly.

"I just want to see a bit more of the park," Bella adds, the words sounding false even to her own ears.

"You don't want to wait until Edward gets back?" Esme quietly asks.

Mutely, Bella shakes her head. She's certain that if she waits for him to return from another attempt at ambushing Alice, he'll insist on going with her.

"I don't want to stop you," Carlisle finally acquiesces. "But try to be back before nightfall—the roads are difficult to navigate even with headlights."

Bella simply nods, her heart unexpectedly leaping in her chest at this opportunity to get away, to reclaim the solitude she'd once dreaded, to experience silence that isn't leaden with unsaid words.

Though the sky is overcast, she can't help feeling as if it might as well be sunshining, a smile curving over her lips as she slides behind the wheel of her familiar truck. The engine instantly jumps into life and soon she's jostling down the long dirt track leading to the lodge, patiently following Irina's dilapidated wood-paneled Cherokee.

She keeps the antiquated Alaska license plates of the Jeep in view as far as the highway before giddily signaling to turn in the alternate direction of the little town where the sisters usually pick up provisions. Bella finds herself winding through evergreens, mountains looming before her, the window cracked to let in the whistling wind.

Moments later she is overcome by a sudden surge of guilt, thinking of Edward's dark gaze, the worry evident on his pale face, the tight line of his lips. She knows she is responsible for some of that concern, that it isn't entirely Alice who's driving the anxiety evident in his manner. Yet she has no idea how to speak to him, how to tell him of the uncertainty and dread she feels about their future. Her eyes are blank as the gray of the road whips beneath the wheels of the truck, barely noticing the passing wilderness.

Given she's unable to decide what she wants for herself, it seems ridiculous to try to raise the subject to Edward. Eternity…? Immortality…? Her eyes drift to the sky, watching as the pall of clouds struggles to break apart, the sun momentarily glimmering through.

Bella shakes her head. She knows that she wants Edward. That whatever they are to each other, it's more than she's ever had with anyone else. And up until Tanya's cruel outburst, it had been so easy; they'd laughed and talked in a way that made her feel as if they'd known each other for years rather than weeks…and she can't deny the draw she's always felt towards him, a draw that's barely satisfied by the nights they've spent exploring one another, bodies intertwined.

But does he feel the same draw? Bella shakes her head again, realizing with a start that miles have passed without her notice. She inhales, grateful the road is largely empty, only one other truck having passed by in all the time she's been driving.

Her brow furrows, her teeth catching on her lip as she falls back into the spin of her thoughts. Even if Edward feels the same draw…how can it possibly be sustained with the long life he's lived…and the long life he'll continue to live after she's gone? How can she be anything but a flickering match to his sun? Her features crumple at the thought, silently accepting she can never be his equal, that he must eventually tire of her—if not because her thoughts are no longer a mystery, her habits and opinions known, then because she will age and lose whatever physical appeal she holds now. Can she truly bear such an inevitability?

Abruptly, she pulls over, uncaring of her location—that the evergreens have had the same appearance for miles, that she is so isolated, no other cars for miles, and that Edward would almost certainly disapprove.

As she ducks between the trees and makes her way over the uneven ground, she briefly turns her head, watching the highway disappear from view. Silky grass, knee high in places, weaves around her, topped in places by blue violet wildflowers. There is no path but the grass is sparse enough, spiked with young pines that are barely Bella's height, that she has no trouble making her way through the woods. Though it is inescapably different, she is reminded of the forest behind her father's house, of the long walks she'd so often taken there, lost in thought.

The quiet is peaceful and she briefly wishes Edward were with her to enjoy it. Yet…the tension between them…it would likely utterly spoil this tranquil space. She stops, breathing deeply, her hands rising to her eyes, fighting for calm, desperately wishing she knew what to do. Ultimately, after several long breaths, she continues walking.

Bella is uncertain of the passage of time, her internal clock entirely dependent on the passage of daylight given her long weeks in the lodge with no structure or schedule to her days. So it is only when the sky begins to dim that she reluctantly returns to her truck, momentarily hoping Edward isn't too angry with her long absence.

The turn off for Healy takes longer to reach than she expects, the sky growing ever darker, the bruise of dusk creeping over the horizon. She flicks on her headlights, frustrated at her own lack of care in judging the distance she'd gone. She is distracted from these self-recriminations, however, when she sees the forest service road she knows eventually leads to the lodge.

Due to the rough roads, she has to reduce her speed, leaning forward to glance up at the sky through the windshield, chagrinned at her slow pace. "Hopefully Carlisle isn't annoyed with me as well," she murmurs to herself as she settles in for the long, slow climb, the truck rocking and bouncing over every rut and pit.

The dart of movement startles her from her resignation, the wheel wrenching in her grasp to avoid the small, furred creature that had suddenly streaked across the road.

The hood of the truck dips ominously before her gaze and she tries to wrench the wheel back—but it is too late, the road so narrow and her momentum so great that the truck is rolling, the world spinning around her, steel screeching against rocks and gravel, glass shattering. A bright flash of light crosses her vision as something cracks against her temple…before the world is abruptly at rest, everything at right angles.

Bella is gasping for breath, vaguely aware of the seat belt digging into her neck, her body partially resting against the driver's side door of the cab. Through the spidery web of the wind shield the head lights glow against the clouds of dust kicked up by the rolling car, the surrounding trees seeming to bend close.

Realizing her hands are still uselessly clenched around the steering wheel, she slowly relaxes her fingers, gratefulness flooding her veins as she sees her limbs respond. Carefully, she wiggles her toes, relieved to feel no pain as she does so. "Thank God," she whispers.

The sensation of damp trickling into her hair momentarily confuses her, wondering if fluid from the engine had somehow leaked through the vents in the rollover. But as she raises one trembling hand to her temple, she knows what she'll find when she pulls her fingers away. Her eyes sink shut as she sees the unmistakable red of blood. Her throat closes and the world abruptly goes dark.

When she comes to, she can't help noticing the world spins for several seconds before everything drifts into focus. She wonders if she's still bleeding, trying to remember from first aid classes taken years ago the common wisdom about head wounds. Then, a sudden thought occurs to her. "Alice," she whispers.

Hadn't she seen the accident? Or had Bella's quick wrench of the steering wheel been all instinct rather than a conscious decision? With no idea of how long she's been lying prone in the battered car, and uncertain she should move given her head had obviously taken a severe knock, she remains where she is, eyes wide as she blindly stares at the cracked windshield.

Her breathing quickens as she tries to think, tries to have faith that someone will find her…but what of the blood? She closes her eyes, blinking back sudden tears at the impossibility of this situation.

As the headlights flicker and glow against the ghostly evergreens, Bella lays limply against the restraints of her seat belt, her thoughts adrift. Strangely, she is taken back to the hours she had spent in a smudge of park in Chicago, completely entranced by Edward's voice, low and hypnotizing as he shared the tale of coming upon Alice. As the clouds of dust drift around the toppled truck, she imagines the swirling mist and bowed willow trees of the Mississippi valley. She thinks of the rabbits all lying lifelessly around, one creature dangling from Alice's pale hand. She wonders…would it hurt to be changed?


	32. Bother

_Thank you so much for reading and reviewing. This chapter is coming a day early as I will be without my laptop this weekend while in Walla Walla. _

_More thanks to__ Ordinary Vamp, the Old One and Elizabeth 440 for invaluable feedback. Finally, please check out the lovely banner Raum made for this story: _

_http: / 1 . . com / -hkPkjwvMoVo / T6kkvchH-8I/AAAAAAAAAUE/AHX9H59cV_4/s1600/banner1 . jpg_

* * *

><p><em>I've been bother enough to the world by now.<em>

_A Room with a View_

**thirty-one**

The crunch of feet against gravel is unmistakable, her body sagging with relief against the door of the overturned truck. She inhales, preparing to call out to whoever is drawing near—but the deep breath fills her nostrils with the iron scent of blood, her gaze swimming as it assaults her senses. Distantly, the sound of an apology echoes in her ears and she can't think why Carlisle should feel regret at rescuing her. The sound of metal scraping and protesting is sharper, louder, bringing her back from the edge of consciousness, before the scent of lavender surrounds her, comforting and sweet.

Gentle hands are flitting over her neck and shoulders, a ghosting sensation, the cold of the doctor's touch reminding her so abruptly of Edward that tears prick her eyes. Mistaking her grief, Carlisle's voice is a soothing protest, "No, don't be distressed. You're in one piece and relatively uninjured." She can't help a dart of surprise at the relief in his voice, blinking back the tears as he frees her from the straps of her seat belt, gathers her into his arms, and climbs through the shredded roof of the truck. Glancing back over his shoulder, he speaks with regret, "I'm afraid your truck may not be salvageable."

"Oh," Bella sniffs. But she can think of nothing else to say and seconds later he is speeding through the darkness, dodging and ducking the surrounding trees, his steps as light as a dancer's. Bella can't help being reminded of Edward again, fresh longing welling in her chest as the forest blurs by. She had been so foolish, so childish in her desire to escape the reality of what her life is now—and here was the result, her frail humanity brought to the forefront yet again. She imagines Edward angry but relieved, his gaze stormy but full of the concern she knows is an indication of how he cares for her—that he feels something besides fascination for the silence of her mind.

She has just begun to register the chill of the wind whipping by when the yellow glow of the lights of the lodge glimmer through the darkness. "We're nearly there," Carlisle speaks. "I'm going to carry you as far as the kitchen. You've lost a lot of blood and I don't want to risk you taking a fall should you try to walk."

Bella dizzily raises a hand to her temple, almost having forgotten the wound she sustained in the crash. She is surprised to feel fresh dampness, her head seeming to drift from her body at the sensation of torn skin and her own hair wet with what she knows is blood. As if from a great height, she hears her own voice whispering, "How can you bear it?"

Carlisle simply shakes his head, his expression shadowed and solemn. "The temptation has never outweighed the horror of it for me." He eases the main door open with his shoulder and slips inside. In her peripheral vision she registers the dying crackle of a small fire, a game of chess with no players, and clusters of armchairs and sofas empty of people. As he continues down the corridor to the kitchen, a frown darts across Bella's brow at the realization that she hears nothing—no quiet voices in conversation, no somber piano music, no pad of feet against floorboards. The lodge is completely abandoned.

"Edward shouldn't go so long without feeding," Carlisle's voice gives away the slightest hint of disapproval, the words dark but quiet. Then, more loudly, "When Alice called, she was able to see you would be…" his voice falters. "There would trouble if anyone other than me went for you." His gaze darts to her wound and then scans the bright walls of the kitchen before carefully setting her down on the nearest counter. Bella braces her palms on the cool tiles, uncertain if the lightheadedness she feels is due to his explanation or because of her injury. As if it had been left waiting for him, his kit is open next the sink.

"Because I'm bleeding," Bella's voice is weak but she does not stutter over the words.

Carlisle's head is bowed over the sink as he washes his hands, the wheat color of his hair no less rich beneath the artificial lights. His voice is solemn when he speaks. "I'm the only one, besides Alice, who's never slipped."

Bella can't help flinching at this word. _Slipped._She recalls her own claim that what Esme had done was an accident—but she can't deny the chill she feels at the thought of sweet, loving Esme falling prey to her instincts.

Carlisle turns from the sink, his expression a mixture of concern and focus. "I'm going to wash away the dried blood. I'm relatively certain you'll need a few stitches to close the wound but I won't know for sure until we've cleaned you up." As he begins dabbing at her temple, his touch gentle, he continues speaking, "You must tell me if you experience any nausea or dizziness." Bella nods obediently, feeling anew the foolishness of her desire to go off on her own. "I don't think you're concussed but head injuries are unpredictable."

"Okay," she whispers, trying not to cringe as the towel in his hand draws closer to the cut itself, wanting so much to be brave and strong.

"Oh, Bella…" Alice's voice is faint from the doorway. Bella's head jerks up, a hiss of pain escaping her lips as lightning shoots through her skull at the motion. Alice's golden eyes are vague, one hand braced against the frame of the door, her forehead pinched with concentration. Abruptly, her gaze clears, relief flooding her features as she sees Bella perched on the counter, Carlisle standing at her side as he dabs at the wound. "You gave me such a scare."

A line briefly forms between Bella's brows, a realization dancing at the edge of her thoughts. If Alice was surprised by the accident, then that couldn't have been the reason she'd stayed away…

"You definitely need a few stitches." Carlisle's brisk words break into the fleeting thought. "I'm going to administer a local anesthetic that will hopefully make this less painful."

Bella acquiesces with a dip of her head but her words are for Alice, wide eyes closely watching the dark haired girl slip farther into the room. "You saw—what happened?"

Alice nods, her pale face stricken with the recollection of the vision. "I called Carlisle—I knew you needed help. But I didn't see," her brow furrows with a mixture of confusion and frustration, "what happened to cause it."

"It was an animal," Bella's voice is bitter as her gaze falls to her lap. "A rabbit…or possum? I don't know." Guilt now mixes with her shame, angry with herself for having so needlessly caused Alice such fear and worry. While she'd taken refuge in the idea that Alice must have seen, it never occurred to her what it must have done to Alice to witness such a thing. "I'm sorry," she sighs.

"There's no need," Alice's voice is soft, as if sensing the reason for Bella's turmoil. She hops up onto the counter, one small hand wrapping around Bella's own. "You'll be fine."

But Bella can't help the race of her heart as she sees Carlisle take up a needle and thread, her gaze darting around the kitchen, desperate to settle on something that will take her mind from the reality of what he's doing. Though she can feel no pain, the sensation of something dragging and tugging against the skin at her temple is disorienting, her breath quickening. Finally, desperate for distraction, she blurts, "Edward told me about finding you."

Alice is silent for several seconds, sensing Bella's need to be taken from this moment, this bright kitchen, the delicate stitches Carlisle is making. Her voice is soft and tinged with something intangible, almost longing. "It's the most powerful memory I have—I think it often is for our kind. That memory of the first thing you see…with heightened senses."

Bella's eyes are wide, focusing on the soprano of Alice's voice, the words lilting as she shares her perspective of that day. "I opened my eyes to a curtain of green, so still and yet full of movement. For I could see every flutter and shift in those drooping branches, sensitive to all the currents and eddies in the lowland air." Bella's gaze is unmoving from their joined hands, concentrating on the pictures Alice is painting, imagining this vivid setting. "I didn't question how I had come to be there, prone beneath a willow tree, so absorbed by the beauty of this green world. The air tasted of salt and earth and even pollen, sweet on my tongue. All of these sensations were distracting…for a time."

"Then I rose and felt the first inklings of uncertainty, of confusion. Though I didn't know who I was, I instinctively knew it could not be normal to be garbed in such a way, in this loose white dress and heavy boots." Her voice grows somber. "But before I could ponder such a thing…I was…taken from myself." She pauses, trying to find words Bella would understand. "You have to see…there was no television yet, not even radio. It was like life…but I knew instantly it wasn't real, it was life yet to be." Bella's hand has begun to tremble and Alice's grip is fierce, protective. "I saw Carlisle…and Jasper. Like twins, caught in this whirlwind that was all in my head. I thought I must have gone mad. There could be no other explanation."

Bella's head lifts, having completely forgotten Carlisle's presence. Fortunately, he has just knotted the final stitch, her gaze darting to his solemn expression before swinging back to Alice. "The gown."

Alice nods, having long ago reached the same conclusion Bella has just come to understand. "I had not been in a hospital." She shakes her head. "It was an insane asylum." The words falter, despite the fact that she is only guessing at the truth. "The visions…I must have had them before…before I was turned." She inhales before going on, telling of the research she'd done decades later, drawn back to that place, seeking out records from the year she'd awoken to this life. "It was clear," she inhales, "that the file for Mary Alice Brandon was mine." Her voice grows cold and distant, like water freezing over. "She'd been committed by her mother in 1919 and died a year later from pneumonia."

Bella is shaking her head, trying to understand the mystery. "But here you are."

Alice nods. "Here I am." She pauses. "For a time, I suspected Edward was responsible for what I'd become."

Bella starts, disbelieving, but Alice speaks before she can protest, the words insistent. "For was he not there? Nearby, ready to guide?" Her golden eyes rise to Bella's, her dark head tilting. "Was he not abstaining, as I'd seen the doctor do in my visions?" Her gaze shifts to Carlisle, who has finished covering Bella's wound with a bandage. "It was the only thing that could make sense, despite Edward's denials."

"But…" Bella's voice is weak, brown eyes confused as she tries to make sense of what Alice is saying. "It couldn't have been him."

"No," Alice shakes her head, her voice solemn. "As I soon came to accept when the time came for Esme to join us—for his disapproval was so strong that it was clear it could not have been him."

"Then, who…" Bella begins, brow furrowing.

Alice shrugs, her gaze falling to their joined hands, small feet swinging from her perch on the counter, ever clad in battered boots. "It was not an accident, a meal interrupted as was the case with Edward," she begins. "The institution, where I found the record—it was miles away, north, near Jackson. Someone changed me, took me all that way." Her gaze is fixed on her boots and Bella's eyes fall to the shoes, knowing now that Alice has worn them daily for decades. She thinks of Charlie, his gift of a rugged truck for his daughter newly arrived to the city.

"They were trying to prepare you." Bella's voice is faint, filled with the sudden certainty that it was no accident Alice had been wearing such unlikely shoes when she'd awoken beneath the willow tree.

Alice's eyes lift, finding Bella's saddened gaze. "I cling to that idea. That it wasn't someone trying to condemn me…" Carlisle rounds the counter as her words falter, his hand on Alice's shoulder in silent comfort.

But Bella is confused, thinking of the circumstances under which Esme was changed. Her lips part, ready to speak, but Alice interrupts, knowing her thoughts before she can voice them. "We're not normal, Bella." The words are firm, Alice's chin high. "And I don't mean in the way that you know now—in the way that prevents everyone from being here because you're hurt." Her lips briefly thin. "Most of our kind live like animals, finding shelter wherever they can, never able to stay in one place for long given how they survive."

Bella's gaze falls, realizing that Edward isn't alone in thinking that their existence is something of a death sentence…without the release of death, without an escape from what they are. "But you have each other." She longs for the words to sound insistent but her voice is tired, without strength.

Alice nods. "And it makes all the difference."

She eases off the counter, her grasp still firm around Bella's own. "Perhaps something to eat…?" she asks, changing the subject, her gaze shifting to Carlisle. But Bella is shaking her head, her appetite utterly gone.

"I think—" she begins, before her voice falters. "I think I just want to lie down." She turns to Carlisle, uncertain if he will protest her going to sleep after sustaining such a blow to the head. But he simply nods.

"Alice said you'll be fine. You see her tomorrow…and after?" His gaze turns to the diminutive girl, his brows briefly lifting in question. But Alice simply nods shortly, the movement carrying a comforting certainty. "But before you go—" He is a blur of movement, darting behind Bella, his hands at her shoulders, easing her coat from her arms. "The blood." He says shortly, glancing down to the dark stains on the canvas fabric.

Bella can't help the slight sway of her figure but it is not her head, or the sight of the blood, that has overcome her. It is the memory of Edward's words, a quiet hint as they'd sat on the stairs of the Clallam County Courthouse. _It had blood on it. I threw it away._

Alice's voice breaks into the memory, her gaze anxious. "I can walk you to your room."

"…okay." Bella doesn't have the strength to protest though more than anything she knows she should quiz Alice for the reason she's been staying away. Weariness suddenly weighs on her shoulders, her gaze downcast as she follows Alice through the gloomy rooms of the lodge.

For her part, Alice is silent until they are nearly at the door of the suite Bella shares with Edward, her dark head bent, pale hands curled into fists.

When she lifts her gaze to Bella, Alice's expression is no less worried, golden eyes wide, her lips pressed tightly together. She opens her mouth to speak but no words come out for several seconds. It is only when her gaze returns to the floor that the words suddenly burst forth, "Edward is worried about hurting you."

Bella's hand lifts before she's consciously formed the thought to do so, her fingers tentatively touching the tender cut now covered by fresh bandages. She can feel that her hair is still damp, that despite Carlisle's efforts to clean her up, there is likely still traces of blood through the tresses. "I can shower," she offers, not realizing until that moment how she longs to see him.

But Alice is shaking her head. "He's finally fed but he doesn't trust himself."

"So he's just going to—stay away?" Bella can hear the anger in her own voice and struggles to tamp down the response, her brow furrowing and smoothing as she fights to control her emotions. "But I trust him. He would never hurt me."

Alice's gaze is still fixed on the floor but her dark head is shaking, insistent. "He won't come back tonight. Not even if he thought he might be able to corner me."

Bella's lips part but she can't find the words to speak, overwhelmed by a sudden sadness that she will spend the first night since she arrived to this wild place completely alone. The dart of curiosity she'd felt at discovering why Alice disappeared the same night that Tanya left for Barrow is gone.

"Okay." The word is faint, Bella's shoulders sagging with defeat as she closes her eyes.

"I'm sorry." Alice's voice is equally faint but Bella can think of no reply. Finally, knowing there's nothing more she can say, she turns and passes through the door into the darkness of her room.

She cannot bring herself to shower knowing that Edward will not return. As her fingers fall to the waistband of her jeans, she stops short, gazing blankly into the shadows of the room. She can see no point in undressing, the room cold without the fire Irina would have lit had she been present—instead of keeping a safe distance from the injured human.

As she settles onto the mattress, Bella is suddenly aware of the soreness in her muscles from having been tossed around the cab of her poor, battered truck, her back and neck aching as she tries to get comfortable beneath the sheets. But it isn't only that her body aches, or that her head is pounding from having cracked against the driver's side window of her car. No, she is worn in her heart, unable to believe that after the fear and anxiety of this night, she is now bound to spend it alone in the dark…without Edward.

She does not admit to herself that she is crying, that the dampness leaking from her eyes, streaking from her temples into her hair, is anything at all.


	33. Afraid

Apologies for the delay. As you can likely tell, I ran out of advance writing some time ago but will do my best to stay as close to my original posting schedule as possible. Thank you for reading and, as always, for taking the time to review.

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><p>…<em>they avoided the personal note in life. All Wilcoxes did. It did not seem to them of supreme importance. Or it may be as Helen supposed: they realized its importance but were afraid of it.<em>

_Howard's End_

**thirty-two**

As the water spirals the drain, the muddy red tint slowly clears until Bella can only see the opaque white of the tub beneath her feet, the porcelain blurred and distorted by the bend and ripple of the water. Her gaze only lifts from the drain when she hears the click of the door. "Edward?" The figure is only a shadow in the steamy room but she knows it can be no one else.

He is there, the curtain parted in the blink of an eye, his hands around her upper arms as he drags her close. His lips are on hers, hungry, punishing, and relieved all at once. Bella turns her head away only to breathe, gasping for air. The water is still showering down, dampening the sleeves of the shirt he's wearing, spilling onto the floor, splashing across Bella's body. But his gaze is fixed on her, as if he is trying to memorize the shape and planes of her features, the color of her skin, the tangle of her wet hair. "I don't know—" He finally speaks but the words falter, his gaze stricken. "I don't know what I would have done."

Her voice is a whisper. "I'm sorry." He simply pulls her to his chest, holding her close.

It is only as Bella is pulling a comb through her hair, careful of the tangled section near her temple, that she realizes Edward had not apologized in turn—that staying away had not meant anything to him.

"It's going to be sunny today," Edward's voice is deliberately light and Bella turns from the mirror over the bathroom sink, finding his seated figure on the bed just through the door. "There's somewhere," he presses his lips together, almost nervous, "A place I want to show you."

Her features are smooth, no emotion apparent in her gaze as she replies. "Okay."

Though she knows he is not prone to fidget, that movement is not necessary for him, she senses something restless and anxious in his manner as he waits for her to eat and then pull on her shoes, hovering and protective. She resists the urge to snap at him, to tell him she is no more fragile today than yesterday, that a sudden stumble isn't going to end her life—but she remains silent, gaze fixed on the floor as she tugs on her boots and ties the laces, pulling her hair free of the jacket he offers from a hook near the door. Bella suspects it belongs to Esme or Irina but given Carlisle likely burned hers, she has little choice in the manner.

Edward's gaze is hesitant as they step out onto the porch, his pale hand lifting towards her slowly. "If you'll climb on my back…" She nods shortly, disregarding his hand as she wraps her arms around his shoulders and rises up onto her toes; his hands quickly swoop under her knees, lifting her into place, flush against his back. His head turns, the line of his jaw and the angle of his cheekbone visible to her. It seems as if he longs to speak, to say something…but no words pass his lips and with a short, quick inhale, he is off, speeding through the evergreens.

They climb, racing past craggy rocks and trees that grow spindly with the hard, thin soil at this higher altitude. Bella's chin is tucked into his nape, inhaling the scent of him despite the lump of uncertainty and anger sitting like a weight in her stomach, brown eyes drifting shut as the forest blurs by. She wants to take comfort in the chill of his body through the cotton of his shirt, to feel solace in the nearness of him, trying to reclaim the longing she'd felt the night before—to feel something other than sadness and a sense of loss as she clings to him.

Though the rush of the passing air soon ceases, she can't bring herself to open her eyes, fingers tangled around his neck, her cheek pressed to the silk of his dark hair. "Bella?" His voice is questioning, his hands shifting from beneath her knees to her elbows, the weight of his touch slight.

Wordlessly she releases her grip, sliding down his back to the ground. It is only then, as her eyes slowly open, that she sees the sun is shining upon a spare clearing, the first blooms of Alaska's late spring just beginning to color the earth.

"Edward," she breathes, struck by the simple beauty of the place. The wild grass and tangle of stems and leaves is not dense, the brown of the soil showing through in places. Bella imagines drifts of snow so heavy and stubborn that the flora beneath had finally perished in the cold of winter. But perhaps now, with the sun shining down and tiny seeds likely adrift on the breeze, the ground might become fertile again.

She drifts towards the brightest spot in the clearing, drawn to the delicate blooms that survived the harsh winter, her gaze fixed upon the violet of aster and warm yellow of buttercups. As she draws close to the richest patch of ground cover, her feet sinking into thick clover, she realizes it isn't only the pale purple of spiky asters she sees, but the softer petals of forget-me-nots. She turns, eyes wide, and sees Edward has not followed, his gaze cast to the ground as he stands beneath the shade of a fir tree.

"Edward?" Her brow furrows, glancing up towards the clear sky, trying to remember Alice's words regarding their refusal to go out in the sun. She can't recall…will it hurt him? Her gaze falls to the flowers at her feet, wondering if this is all he wanted to show her, that he has no intention of revealing what it is that occurs to him in the sun.

When her gaze casts up again, her breath catches in her throat, a hand lifting involuntarily to shade her eyes. For Edward has stepped into the light, soundless and stealthy as always. But there is nothing surreptitious about his appearance, and Bella first thinks he must be afire, a cry of fear building in her throat.

As he cautiously draws near, though, she sees that this cannot be—that were he on fire, he would not move with such slow, steady steps, his amber eyes full of the fear she is feeling. Moreover, the shining brightness reflecting off of him is restricted to his face and neck and hands—that wherever he is covered by his clothing, the blinding light is muted.

"Edward?" she speaks his name again, her voice full of the surprise and fear she has not fully suppressed. As he reaches her side, the hand she had lifted to shade her eyes now drifts towards his cheek; her fingertips disappear in the prisms refracting off his skin, lost to the bright flash and fire of Edward in the sun. She draws back, uncertain of whether she's near enough to touch him or still has inches to go, full of awkwardness and confusion as the memories of the night before rush back.

Seeing her withdraw, he speaks, trying to reassure her, his hands helplessly lifting, gesturing towards himself. "This is why we don't go out in the sun."

She is silent for several seconds, forcing herself to meet his gaze, to realize that she can see him—that his skin is just visible, glimpsed through the refracting light, so much more pale than she could have ever imagined beneath the bright midday sun. "Does it hurt?" Her voice is quiet, considering.

Edward shakes his head, swallowing. "No." Bella hears the strangled note in his voice and a line forms between her brows, brown eyes questioning as she finds his gaze. Her lips part and a million questions hover on her tongue before her gaze falls, unable to speak.

"Bella," Edward breaks the silence. But he stops short, uncertain of what to say, suddenly uncertain of what he'd intended. Perhaps he'd hoped that showing her this, in showing her _him_, they might push past the confusion and stiffness that seemed to overcome both of them whenever in each other's presence.

He thinks of the long evening he had spent worrying about her, the torture of having to stay away, the desperation of wanting to go to her…but for the fear that he wouldn't be able to control himself. He had thought she was as relieved as him when he finally returned to the lodge that morning. But here, in this idyllic clearing under pristine blue skies, she has returned to the distance that has marked their interactions these past days, her demeanor as closed as her mind has always been to him. He is filled with the sudden certainty that it is fear behind her actions, that she has finally come to her senses and realized just what a danger he is to her.

Her gaze lifts at the sound of her name, but her eyes rise only as far as his chin. Edward can't restrain the anger and fear in his voice, the words tight as they issue past his lips. "What's wrong?"

A drift of clouds obscures the sun, like a light suddenly dimmed. The brilliance of Edward's otherworldly skin dies away, along with the dark shape of their shadows upon the ground. "Nothing," she whispers.

A growl of exasperation escapes Edward's throat, his expression growing dark at the same response she has repeatedly given these past few days…and at his own inability to keep his anger at bay, likely frightening her even more. The frustration in his voice is barely repressed. "I don't believe you."

But she simply shakes her head, chestnut hair drifting over her shoulders, her bottom lip caught beneath her teeth. Edward lifts a hand, longing to touch her cheek but uncertain of her response. Would he only frighten her more? And shouldn't he let her run, if that's what she's finally realized she should do? Anger hides the desperation in his voice as he speaks next. "Why are you pushing me away?"

It is as if their roles are reversed, Bella's answer evasive. "What are you talking about?"

Edward can't help flinging up his hands in frustration, utterly at his wit's end. "You know what I'm talking about! This! You! You keep everyone at arm's length so you don't have to feel anything!"

There is a long silence, the only sound the faint whisper of the breeze in the branches of the surrounding trees. When Bella lifts her gaze, her brown eyes glitter with unshed tears. There is bitterness in her voice as she speaks. "I know how the story ends, Edward."

A frown of confusion passes over his brow, anxiety like a pang in his gut as he wishes for the thousandth time that he knew her thoughts.

She lifts a hand, dashing at the tear that is tracing a solitary path down her cheek. "You told me of it the second time we met." Edward's head rocks back, the perfect recall of his kind taking him instantly to that tiny office, the buzz of the fluorescent light overhead, the faint mutter of voices through the walls and the more distinct fragments of foreign thoughts in his head—but for the pale girl across the desk from him, the silence of her mind a refuge of quiet calm in the chaos around them.

Her voice had drowned out everything, an alto he had found himself thinking sweet in nature, clear and direct as she tried to coax him from his dark mood. _What do you like to read?_

He'd dodged the question, knowing if he told her the truth it would be all too obvious he shouldn't be attending Forks High. She'd persisted, his stubborn Bella. _What are you reading right now?_

And he'd answered honestly, though he couldn't admit to her that he'd selected the book from the shelf only the night before, with thoughts of her heavy on his mind. _Where Angels Fear to Tread._

Seeing his recollection of the memory, Bella goes on, sadness and resignation coloring every word. "She doesn't belong. And ultimately she dies."

Edward opens his mouth to speak, to reiterate his promise that he would never hurt her—that this is why he had stayed away the night before. Her life is more precious to him than anything on this earth.

But Bella is speaking again, her voice suddenly hard. "Would you let me die?"

"I would do everything—" he begins, but is caught off guard by the sudden relief that transforms her features. His mind races, knowing the question addresses more than he'd realized. He abruptly shifts course, forehead furrowed as he regards her from beneath lowered brows. "Do you mean…?"

Bella's expression has shifted as well, the relief subsumed by caution, her features smoothing into blankness.

Edward's voice is rough as he speaks next. "You want to be changed? You want this mockery of a life?"

The blankness briefly cracks, uncertainty and confusion flitting across Bella's gaze. "I don't know."

There is only honesty in the words, in her voice, in the sudden turmoil evident in her expression. She longs to picture a future with him—but it is like no future she had ever imagined for herself…and probably unlike a future anyone has ever pictured before. For isn't it inevitable that eventually they'll be forced to live a lie as she grows older and he remains the same? It is only with hearing Esme's story that another possibility has begun to dance at the edge of her thoughts, for her dreams to be suddenly taken with an image of them together, unchanging, side by side. But could he want eternity with her? Or is it all a foolish pipe dream, destined to end in disappointment?

Edward only hears her uncertainty, that she can still be swayed from thinking a life such as his is any kind of option. "You don't know what you're asking," he growls. "You can't know—" As he sees her features grow impossibly even more closed, her gaze narrowing, his own anger flares to life. "You have no idea! For us, years are like weeks—decades are like years. Time has such a different meaning—"

Bella's lips are a thin line, words burning on her tongue, her heart pounding against her ribs. She longs to deny him, to tell him _he_ has no idea, that he can't know what her life was like before she met him, the eternity she had experienced waiting for him.

But Edward is going on, a hand thrust into his hair as he tries to explain. "We'll just begin to feel settled—normal almost—and Carlisle will start to get fountain of youth jokes. And it'll be time to leave again."

Bella is shaking her head, unwilling to accept this explanation. "But you have each other." Beneath the words is a hidden meaning, a statement she cannot bring herself to say out loud. _You would have me._

It is Edward's turn to shake his head, something dark and sad coming into his eyes, his mouth moving though no words come out. Bella waits, every nerve standing on end, suddenly acutely aware of the scent of the crisp mountain air, the silence of the forest around them, the faintest hint of pine and sweet blossoms drifting on the breeze.

Edward's voice is quiet when he finally speaks, his golden eyes cast to the ground, his pale hands loose at his sides. "There was a girl."

Bella tenses, every muscle on fire with the exertion of staying still, of not fleeing this tale of some other human girl, some past infatuation who had passed in and out of his life as easily and fleetingly as a bird darting across an endless road.

"She was a banker's daughter. I met her only twice, once at a tea dance Alice insisted on going to." Bella's brow furrows, confused. Edward continues, caught up in the memories. "But it's the second time I came across her that made it impossible to forget her." He inhales, as if struggling to go on. Bella's frown deepens, unable to imagine what is so difficult to tell her. As he continues speaking, her lips silently part, brown eyes growing wide and soon shimmering with tears. "It was winter—months after the summer tea dance in the hotel courtyard. There was snow on the ground. Had her shoes been black or brown, I'm certain she would have been seen by someone passing by. But they were the palest yellow, and in the street lights her feet were nearly invisible against the snow."

His eyes sink shut at the memory, of the sight of slender legs horribly splayed, barely visible in the shadows of the alley where she'd been left. He had frozen, gaze fixed on the slim ankles crossed by the narrow strap of Mary Jane heels, nostrils flaring at the scent of blood; Carlisle, ever heroic, had already darted into the alley, dropping to his knees at her side.

"Rosalie Hale." Edward whispers the name as he opens his eyes. "Her engagement had been announced in the paper shortly after I'd made her acquaintance at the dance." He had only shaken her gloved hand, briefly introduced by a distracted Alice who could only focus on tugging him to the dance floor. "It was her fiancé…among others…who had attacked her." Even had he not seen the announcement, he would have known. For in the flash of her memories the image of a man sliding a slender ring over her finger was horribly superimposed with the same man hovering above her, hands around her throat.

"She fought back," he whispers. It was this ferocity, scratching the man above her, that had prompted a fist to hit her face in response—and the flash of a booted foot in her peripheral vision, thudding sickeningly even in her memories against her rib cage. It was this blow that was killing her, blood foaming at her lips as she gasped for breath in Carlisle's arms. "But it was too late. Her lung was punctured by a broken rib." His gaze falls to his feet, to the tender blooms of forget-me-nots and asters, to the bruised clover they have trod with their careless steps. He had not thought to share such horrors with Bella now, not in this place, not at this time…but fate's timing has always left much to be desired where he and Bella are concerned.

"I could see in Carlisle's thoughts—he was thinking of changing her. He tried to hide his intentions but I could see…he knew of my loneliness, of my melancholy. He hoped I could find relief and comfort as he had with Esme." Edward shakes his head, red-tinged hair stirred by the motion, by the brisk breeze of the mountain winds. "I pulled him away from her—it took all of my strength." His eyes squeeze shut, a deep line forming between his brows. "We argued violently as she lay dying—for do we not have a million opportunities to save others? To rescue a child darting into traffic? To give an early warning that the cough someone thinks is only a cold is actually something much worse? To catch a person intent on ending their life from smashing into the ground? But to do so would be to risk exposure. And worse, to play God."

Bella can barely breathe, unaware of the tears coursing down her cheeks, her hands clenched into impossibly tight fists at her sides, nails digging painfully into her palms.

Edward's eyes lift, meeting hers, his expression solemn and drawn with sorrow. "It was only by threatening to go after her attackers, to play God as Carlisle was trying to do, that I was able to stop him from changing this dying girl." His shoulders lift and fall with a forced breath. "Rosalie Hale."

His gaze falls again, a pale hand drifting into his wild hair. "After she was…gone, we did seek out her attackers. But only to steal an item or two to plant at the scene. And once that was done, Carlisle called the police and made certain the 'evidence' was found."

He shakes his head again, his hand falling limply to his side. "This is no life, Bella." His mouth twists, longing to confess to her, to admit that even in the impossibly rare joy of meeting her there had been so much fear and anxiety—that she could not possibly accept him for who he is, that the danger to her by simply being in his presence weighs on him like an anchor, that every minute with her feels like something precious and stolen that cannot last. He inhales. "I wouldn't wish this life on my worst enemy much less someone as important to me as you."

There is a long silence in which Bella finally brushes away the tears that have dampened her cheeks, uncaring whether her eyes are red or nose is swollen. Her head feels as if it's in a fog, unsure whether her sadness is for the young woman killed so brutally long ago…or for herself, knowing with unequivocal certainty that Edward is unswayed from the opinion he'd held decades before when Esme decided to forgo death and become one of them.

He's always been so adamant about her sense of choice, of assuring that she isn't simply dragged along in the tide and swirl of his life…but this is clearly one choice he simply isn't going to allow her.


	34. Run Away

Thank you so much for reading and reviewing.

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><p>"<em>I can't, and won't attempt difficult relations….Heaven help any one whom I do marry, for I shall certainly run away from him…"<em>

_Howard's End_

**thirty-three**

The crow shifts its weight, black body perched above angled legs, secure upon the branch of a swaying pine. Its narrow head turns sharply, the iridescence of its plumage shimmering near purple in the faint afternoon sunlight. A single glossy eye regards the girl sitting on the low porch step below, as if contemplating her crouched figure. Dark hair falls over her shoulders, strands of sienna visible against the plaid shirt on her back, the garment far too large for her slight frame; the cuffs are turned up multiple times around her slender wrists, which rest on denim clad knees. She does not appear to notice the black bird above, her own gaze fixed on a shattered hulk of metal resting unevenly on the ground nearby.

It would not be accurate to state that the truck was parked near the house for she suspects it was carried up the mountainside under the cover of night; she had heard no rumble of an approaching engine, familiar and comforting. The windshield had likely crumpled inward with the motion, broken glass like jewels across the faded dashboard and worn leather bench seat. The dull gray of steel is like exposed flesh beneath red paint and rust, long gouges and scratches evident all over the body of the car. The driver's side door is dented beyond recognition; she had tried to pry it open only to give up after several seconds of futile tugging. Perhaps most alarming is the shredded roof of the cab; like torn fabric, the metal gapes open, evidence of Carlisle's effort to rescue her without causing her more harm.

Bella's eyes remain fixed on the truck even when the crow above flutters away, as if her stare can somehow fix the damaged car…as if, through willpower alone, she might turn back the clock, erase the accident, forget the night Edward had left her alone, and the unnavigable impasse they'd reached the following day.

But how far would she turn back the clock if given the chance? If she could leave at this very moment, return to her life in Forks, would she truly want to pretend that none of this had ever happened? She shakes her head stubbornly, the twist of her mouth mutinous. Her mind circles for the umpteenth time that day, trying to fix on some solution that will settle the matter, some middle ground where she and Edward can both move forward together.

Her chin drops to her knees, her body bent nearly double on the low slats of the porch step…for there is no solution. He will not change her, the idea abhorrent to him. He has seemed almost…disappointed in her these past few days, distant, his eyes growing black despite the fact that he's spent long hours away from the lodge. She was unsurprised to find herself alone in bed that first evening after their argument in the meadow, the book she'd fetched from the library forgotten on the rumpled blankets.

Her chin tilts on her knees, dark brown eyes returning to the wreckage of the truck, her expression solemn and contemplative. That first night she had thought she was dreaming, that the sensation of Edward's arms wrapped around her waist, his body curved behind her own, could not be real. She had stirred and felt his lips, a soothing motion against her hair; comforted by this affection, too adrift in the limbo between wake and slumber to recall all of the tension between them, she had fallen back into a deep sleep. When she'd awoken that morning, the room cold, the bed empty, she had been certain it was only a dream.

Only, as each night has passed, she's woken to the same impossible occurrence; Edward's arms around her, his body flush against her own, as if only in sleep can he allow himself to be near her. She wants to find hope in this last demonstration of what they'd once had, the closeness between them, the draw she had thought they felt towards one another. But a dark corner of her mind whispers that this is simply the last remnant, that it can't be much longer before he tires of her entirely.

She suspects this is why Carlisle had insisted on taking Edward hunting, the words casual though his firm tone brooked no argument. It was no secret that she and Edward were nearly estranged; Esme had tried for the past week to discover what had happened that day in the meadow but Bella can't bring herself to share. After all, what solution could his foster mother offer? And the last thing she wants is the kind vampire's pity.

Bella is grateful Esme had accompanied Kate in the wood-paneled Cherokee down the mountain earlier that day. They will go farther than Healy, driving all the way to Fairbanks for the parts they'll need to begin repairing the truck. Bella's lips quirk at the thought; ever empathetic, Esme couldn't help sensing Bella's sadness at the loss of the truck and would hear no word of scrapping the poor vehicle. "We'll make it a convertible!" she'd tried to joke. Bella had tried to smile in return but is certain the expression was closer to a grimace.

So it is only she and Irina, who remains inside due to the scattered sunlight breaking through the cloud cover. Alice has continued to stay away, that night in the kitchen after the accident like some surreal dream. Bella might have thought she'd imagined the entire thing if Carlisle hadn't carefully snipped away her stitches that morning.

Her fingers drift to her temple, ghosting over the jagged ridge that disappears into her hairline, still tender. Her eyes fall to her lap, blinking back sudden tears, cursing herself for her insistence on leaving the safety of the lodge, for triggering everything that had led to this moment.

But why must Edward be so stubborn? With the company of his foster family, is his existence really so unbearable? Certainly he must experience ennui, and the necessary deception of living among humans is a burden—but had she not lied every day to the people in her life, trying to fit in, trying to act interested in the conversations around her? Has she not felt most like herself with him? Bella's hands clench into fists as the same thoughts she's dwelled on for the past week swirl in her head, a confounding argument with herself that never ends.

For she knows it is not only boredom and deception that lie at the heart of Edward's feelings. He has killed people, however close to death, and it haunts him. And isn't Esme equally haunted by the single life she took, and the toll it wrought on their family? While Bella has tried to comprehend this reality, she knows she doesn't fully understand the weight of it—that she can't, having never borne this type of guilt, having never committed those kind of acts. Her hands unfurl as an image of her father settles in her thoughts, the heaviest cross she has to bear…the cross of knowing she could have done more to be a good daughter to him.

She is not certain what drags her from these morose thoughts for she will later think that he was much too far away for her to hear the crunch of his shoes against the gravel of the narrow clearing. Perhaps it was some sixth sense, intimating that, however distant, someone was watching her, cautious, waiting.

Bella's head lifts, her brow furrowing and then clearing as she sees a figure in the distance, confusion swiftly replaced by sheer shock. "Jake?" His name is a whisper but she's somehow able to tell that he hears, his shoulders straightening as if she'd addressed him across a distance of no more than a few feet. She has just begun to rise from the porch steps when a blur shoots past her, a streak of white skin and pale yellow hair, aimed directly at Jake's distant frame.

"No!" The shout seems to come from somewhere deep within Bella's lungs, fully rising to her feet and surging after Irina on legs that feel as if they must be made from cement, her own pace so slow by comparison that it might have been laughable. Though she knows any effort to beat the speeding vampire is futile, Bella does not stop, racing as fast as she can, arms pumping at her sides. To her shock, she doesn't see Jake phase into the wolf form she knows the Quileutes can take, watching in horror as he hits the ground beneath the force of Irina's weight and momentum, unresisting as she pins him down.

Bella is panting when she finally draws near, eyes wide with shock and disbelief at the impossible sight of Irina's lithe figure perched atop Jacob Black's prone frame. The otherworldliness of what the Cullens and the three sisters truly are has never been more evident than in this frightening moment. Bella has almost forgotten just how pale they all are, Irina's skin ghostly and unnatural next to the tanned Quileute; moreover, the weak midday sun scatters shards of light off her cheeks and neck, like crystals refracting. Lips Bella has only seen curved into a soft smile are fiercely drawn across bared teeth, golden eyes narrowed and savage as she glares down at Jake. "What are you doing here? What do you want?"

Jake's dark gaze darts to where Bella is standing, his voice rough with either fear or frustration—possibly both. "I came to see her."

Bella recalls Carlisle's words the day he and Esme had joined them in Alaska, his features rueful as he described the conversation with the Quileutes. _"He asked how you were—if you were alright." _

"I think it's okay," Bella tries to interject, still breathless. "He didn't change." Then, frowning, she can't help asking Jake directly, "Why didn't you change?"

"I didn't phase," Jake replies, his gaze steady as he stares up at Irina's furious features, "because I don't want a fight." His broad chest expands with a deep breath but Irina doesn't move from atop his lanky frame, her pale hands fixed like manacles around his tan forearms, pinning him to the ground. "Really. I promise," Jake insists. "I came on my own. I just want to…I just want to talk."

Something in Irina's expression shifts, her amber gaze lifting to carefully scan the surrounding woods. Bella's eyes follow, her mouth still agape as she tries to regain her breath. Though she knows she doesn't have the heightened senses that likely allow Irina to hear and smell whether anyone else is nearby, the sincerity in Jake's voice leads her to believe he's speaking the truth.

"Irina," she speaks more calmly this time. "I think it's okay."

Another strained moment passes, Irina's expression one of tense distrust before she slowly rises, releasing Jake from her powerful grip. To Bella's surprise, he does not follow, only straightening into a seated position on the ground where he wryly rubs at the spots where she'd been restraining him. "You guys do not play around," he tries to joke.

Irina simply snorts, her arms crossed over her chest, amber eyes unmoving from his seated figure. She turns to Bella. "I will not go far." Her gaze darts to Jake. "I want to try to get Carlisle on his cell—if he has it." She turns back to Jake, "One false move—"

"I get it," Jake nods his dark head, lips twisting. "But I promise, I only want to talk. Then I'll be on my way."

Irina nods once in acknowledgement before turning on her heel and heading back towards the house.

Bella is too impatient to wait for Irina to get out of earshot, uncaring whether the vampire overhears their conversation. She prompts Jake, "What did you come all this way to say?" Her voice is soft and sad, unwillingly taken back to so many memories—of bonfires and summer days on the beach, of laughing voices in the living room as Billy and Charlie watched football while she and Jake quietly ate dinner in the kitchen, of tanned figures, muscled and strong, leaping from cliff tops to murky waters below.

Jake's wry bravado finally falters, his gaze falling to his lap, his voice hesitant in reply. "I j-just wanted to make sure…you were okay." His gaze darts up, eyes narrowing as he fixes on the barely healed cut at her temple. "Don't tell me someone decided to have a taste."

It's Bella's turn to snort, unaware how bitter her laugh. "I rolled the truck," she nods in the direction of the lodge and Jake's gaze shifts, black eyes narrowing further as he makes out the wrecked car in the distance. "Carlisle stitched me up."

Jake's voice is a mutter, his gaze returning to his lap. "I might have guessed."

Bella can't hide her disbelief. "_You_ might have guessed? Aren't the Cullens your avowed enemies?"

Jake's shoulders lift in the slightest shrug, the furrows around his lips deepening with a grimace. As he responds, Bella realizes she could not have possibly anticipated what he would say.

"Harry passed away a week ago."

"What?" Her gasp is one of shock, trying to comprehend this news.

Jake nods, his gaze grim as it rises to meet her own. "A heart attack. It was sudden."

His words instantly transport her back, recalling the weight of the grocery bags in her arms as her phone had insistently rang in her purse. The urgency with which she'd fumbled for her keys, simply trying to get inside to answer the call, was due to the fact that the cell never rang—but for Charlie's biweekly Sunday calls. She remembers her confusion as she'd heard Jake's voice, husky over the line, how she had glanced back down at the phone's screen to confirm it was in fact Charlie's number. _Why are you calling from my dad's house?_

_It was really sudden, Bella_. She had staggered to the kitchen counter, knuckles white as she clutched at the edge. _There was nothing anyone could do._

Her eyes regain focus, her expression stricken. She can't help slowly sinking down, knees weak, legs folding beneath her on the uneven ground. She somehow manages to find the words to speak. "Is Sue okay?" She inhales. "Oh, poor Seth and Leah."

Jake's voice seems to come from far away. "It's too soon to tell. They're all in shock." He pauses. "But…it made me see…" He sucks in a breath and Bella's gaze lifts from her trembling hands, finding his furrowed features. His dark eyes are cast to the needle-strewn ground but she can see the turmoil in his expression—that the friendly, easy-going youth she knows from her childhood is deeply troubled. His lips part but he remains silent for several seconds, the line between his brows deepening.

The words emerge on a breath. "This life is so short. And I'd been doubting…that what we did—it wasn't right." He shakes his head. "I just had to tell you." His gaze finally rises from the ground, black eyes sincere. "I had to make sure you knew."

Bella can barely breathe, overcome by so many thoughts and feelings she can't yet untangle. She tries to settle on one thing, to understand what this means. "Is Edward still…is he banned from Forks?"

Jake shakes his head ruefully. "It's bad enough—me being here. Sam was sure it was a suicide mission."

Bella's lips thin, understanding this means the realization was Jake's alone—that nothing else has changed. "But you insisted on coming?"

Jake's expression turns mutinous, brows low over black eyes. "That bloodsucker could have killed me the minute I showed up," he nods towards the house where Irina had retreated. His gaze turns back to Bella. "We all misjudged you. And them." His broad shoulders lift and fall with a deep sigh. "I can accept that, even if the others can't."

Bella's voice is faint. "So now that you've said your piece…"

Jake shrugs. "I might have been a little worried, too. But I'm not anymore. Not now." His half-grin is familiar, the same easy smile she'd seen so often when teasing Leah out of one of her moods, or joking with the guys over beers.

Bella can't bring herself to respond to his confidence in her happiness, her gaze cutting away. "So you'll go back now."

His sigh is audible. "With Harry gone…yeah, they need me."

Bella speaks before she can think, the words bursting past her lips, quick and urgent. "Can I come with you?"

Jake's gaze flies to her face but her expression is simply intent, brown eyes direct as she returns his stare. There is no trace of fear. "But—" He falters, confusion like a mask over his features. "Don't tell me they've hurt you?" The growing outrage in his voice sends her stumbling to her feet, adamantly shaking her head.

"No, of course not." The sincerity in her voice, as if such an idea is laughable, only confuses Jake further.

"Then why…" His frown carves deep lines into his brow, unable to understand. After everything she'd given up, what could bring her to this point—of wanting to take flight at the first available opportunity?

"I don't belong here." Bella's voice is quiet and small and indescribably sad, brown eyes glittering with sudden tears.

"I—" Jake hesitates only a moment, uncertain what wrath he might bring down on his own head should he do as she asks. But after all he's risked by coming here, how can he turn her down? "Okay." His spine straightens before he springs to his feet. "The truck is farther down the hill—I didn't want to risk being behind the wheel if I had to phase."

"Okay," Bella nods. "But…" Her gaze darts over her shoulder, knowing she can't simply go—that she has to explain, even if only to Irina. Otherwise, they'll all likely think she was kidnapped and she can't endanger Jake in that way. But she's reluctant to linger, partly worried that Carlisle and Edward might return at any moment—or Alice might see this decision and try to head her off—or her own heart won't allow her to follow through on the only course she can bear.

For what can come of her staying? Edward barely speaks to her, the entire lodge mired in a fog of tension and sorrow. It can only be a matter of time before he finds the words to part them forever. Why shouldn't she be the one to initiate what she knows is coming?

And even were things to somehow return to what they'd been before, to the intimacy and comfort they'd momentarily found with one another, how can it last? How can she go on knowing any future she shares with him will become a mockery, a patchwork of lies to cover the truth of the teenage boy and his elderly girlfriend?

She is racing towards the lodge before she can hesitate, calling over her shoulder, "I'll be right back!"

She's breathless when she pushes through the front door, unsurprised to find Irina tensely waiting at the window of the front room. "Is he going?"

Bella's lips part, unable to make herself say the words. Knowing herself to be a coward, she finally gasps, "I need a pen and paper!"

"What for?" But Bella is already darting toward the library and the massive oak desk she knows to contain stationary and an array of pens. She has lifted the roll top, grabbed a scrap of heavy vellum, and is hunting for a ballpoint among the ancient, dried-out fountain pens when she feels Irina's hand on her shoulder.

"Bella, what's going on?"

She can hide the truth no longer, her eyes swinging up to meet Irina's confused gaze. "I'm going with him. Back to Forks."

The dismay and disappointment that crosses Irina's pale features at these words is too much to bear, Bella's gaze returning to the wrinkled vellum before she can feel any sense of hesitation. Irina's voice is faint, a confused protest. "But why?"

"Is it really such a mystery?" Bella can hear the bitterness in her own voice, briefly wondering when this unhappy tone had become the norm for her.

Irina is silent, as aware as anyone of the turmoil that has weighed on the lodge like a pall. When she continues to fail to speak, Bella begins fumbling at the jar of pens again, a gasp of relief escaping her lips when she finally finds a ballpoint. As she presses the nib to the thick vellum, she stops short, suddenly realizing she has no idea what to write.

The pen begins to shake in her hand, words rushing through her head as the roar of rushing blood fills her ears.

She thinks of writing:

_I don't belong here._

Or:

_It'll crush me when you grow tired of me._

But finally, she simply writes:

_I'm leaving with Jacob. This was a mistake. Please don't follow me._

_I'm sorry._

Once the words are on the page, the decision begins to feel real; she doesn't realize she's breathing as if she's just run a race, the pen falling from her hand.

Irina's voice breaks into her panic, solemn and sad. The words fall like a blow, hammering at her ears. "Our hearts may be silent, Bella, but we made a place for you there." Bella shakes her head, as if trying to ward off what Irina is saying, as if the motion can keep Irina's disappointment and grief at bay. "But it's up to you—to take that place, to live there, and be."

Bella is blind with tears and pushes away from the desk, swallowing back a sob as she hurries from the library, uncertain whether Irina is following. She can only choke out two words as she rushes towards the square of light she knows to be the front door, fleeing this place, this sorrow. "I can't."

Jake is waiting just beyond the door at the bottom of the steps, gaze concerned, hands loose at his sides. Seeing Bella's distress, he glances towards Irina, who stands just inside the door, pale features in shadow, arms crossed over her chest. He can just make out that her lips are trembling and cannot hide the surprise that passes over his features, never having known the bloodsuckers could cry. "Bella…" His voice is hesitant. "Are you sure about this?"

But she simply nods, using the too long sleeves of her shirt to wipe at her eyes. "Let's go."

With the weight of Irina's gaze on her back, Bella feels a sudden urgency to get away, hurrying down the drive at a near run. Jake is on her heels, his long stride easily allowing him to match her pace. She doesn't wait for his questions, sensing his ongoing confusion. "I want to be gone before Edward's back. I don't think he'd stop me," she shakes her head, choking back the knot in her throat. "I just don't…"

"You don't want a confrontation," Jake finishes her thought, his voice low, finally seeing that all has not been peace and happiness. He shakes his head at the thought that while they'd all been so worried about Bella's physical safety, it had never occurred to any of them that there might be far greater dangers to her heart. "The truck is just down here."

They round the far bend at the end of the clearing, coming to the forest service road that will take them down to Healy. A small white truck is parked at the road edge, vaguely familiar to Bella's gaze. "Quil let me borrow it," Jake's voice is wry as he unlocks the passenger side door. "I suspect he kind of agrees with me about you…and the bloodsuckers, even if he won't admit it out loud." Jake shrugs. "In any case, we both knew the Volkswagen wouldn't make it up here."

Bella simply nods as she swings into the cab. She tries to take refuge in the unfamiliar smells of aftershave and leather, so very different from the faint lavender scent that has surrounded her these past weeks in the company of the Cullens and the sisters. Her eyes are wide, seemingly staring at the road beyond the windshield, but there is a blindness to her gaze that makes it clear she sees nothing before her. She starts when the engine rumbles to life, her hands curling into tight fists in her lap as the truck begins the long, bouncing descent down the mountain.

It is only when they reach the highway that her entire body shudders, a gasp escaping her lips as the magnitude of what she's doing overwhelms her. "Bella?" Jake's gaze darts between her white features and the road, worry evident in his voice.

"But I can't stay!" The words are despairing, a wail, answering a question Jake had not asked. "How can I? !"

"Bella, I can take you ba—"

Jake can't even finish the sentence, her voice a loud cry in the closed confines of the car. "No!" She is wildly shaking her head, frantically blinking back the tears in her eyes. "He doesn't want me! And even if he did, how can we stay together?" She turns to him, her brown eyes pleading. "I'm going to grow old and die. And he's going to remain the same. What kind of future is that?"

Jake slowly shakes his head in turn, totally thrown by the vehemence with which she's speaking, by the emotion she's displaying. He has never witnessed her as anything other than calm and reserved—but for the anger she had shown when he and the tribe tried to control her interactions with the Cullens. This passion—it's jarring. He can't help thinking that to walk away from the one thing that has made her come alive can't be the right path—but he has no answer for her questions. So he responds with a question of his own. "Do you have to decide now?"

"And just get in deeper and deeper until I don't know how to go on without him? When the lies have become a habit?" She lifts her fists to her eyes, as if she can physically restrain the tears. Her voice falls to a whisper, "I'm already in too deep."

Jake can only nod, his expression grim as he gazes over the steering wheel at the length of gray road before him. This emotion, this grief she's feeling—this is not the mark of someone ready to walk away and start anew. "Are you sure…?" he quietly begins. But he somehow already knows the answer.

"Yes." Bella nods adamantly, her fists falling away as she turns red-rimmed eyes to him.

"You just…" Jake is reluctant to disagree with her, not only because it pushes his own limits of right and wrong to try and convince her to stay with a creature he's only recently come to accept might not be as malevolent as he'd once thought, but because he feels wildly out of his element trying to discuss such a heartfelt topic with someone he'd largely considered an emotionless blank slate until this point. "You just sound heartbroken."

Bella turns her gaze to the road, her lips trembling as she struggles for control. Finally, after several long minutes of silence, her shoulders rise and fall with a deep breath. "What does it matter? Whether I love him or not, the outcome is the same." As she speaks the words, as the blur of evergreens passing by fills her peripheral vision, as she thinks of Edward coming upon that note, any illusion of control fades. Her features crumple as tears spill from her eyes, shaking with sobs as the truth sinks in. She does love him. But it changes nothing.

The only sound for minutes that feel eternal are her muffled sobs; Jake's hands are fists around the steering wheel, his mouth a thin line as he follows the highway toward the Yukon border. He wonders, given the intensity of what she's feeling, and given the infuriating rescue at the Clearwater house so many weeks before, if the Cullen boy is already on their tail. But having never seen the vampire interact with his childhood acquaintance, he has no idea about the likelihood of pursuit. He's relatively certain, though, that if he tried to turn around, Bella can't be trusted to act rationally. After all, she'd thrown herself from a window to be with the bloodsucker—what could keep her from throwing herself from the speeding truck?

Bella struggles for control, sucking in a deep breath, her shoulders shuddering with the motion. She raises her eyes to the ceiling of the cab, knuckles white, fists clenched. The words are almost calm as they pass her lips, somehow tapping that well of resolve that has always sustained her in trying circumstances. "I will go home. I will pick up the pieces. I will grow old as I was meant to do. And someday, I will forget all of this."

But even as she says the words, she knows she's lying.


	35. Muddled

I remain so amazed by all of your reviews. Insightful, apt and just really thoughtful. Thank you for taking the time to leave them. I've been slowly trying to respond-but also trying to write! I will do my best to make sure the next chapter doesn't take so long. Thank you again.

* * *

><p>"<em>...But let yourself go. You are inclined to get muddled, if I may judge from last night. Let yourself go. Pull out from the depths those thoughts that you do not understand, and spread them out in the sunlight and know the meaning of them."<em>

_A Room with a View_

**thirty four**

Bella's resolve lasts seven days.

Even on the journey south, she finds her gaze drawn to the darkness beyond the windshield of Quil's truck when Jake stops for gas. It is only when she is startled by the door slamming behind him that she realizes she had been looking for a familiar lithe figure to emerge from the surrounding forest, pale skin nearly aglow in the black of night, dark eyes intent. Jake suspects her thoughts, hesitating before he turns the key in the ignition. He does not ask her if she wants to turn back, having heard her refusal too many times to count over the course of the trip. Instead, his voice wry, he asks, "Looking for someone?"

Bella cannot answer, denying the hope that is in her heart as she silently shakes her head, unable to meet Jake's gaze. She barely sleeps that night, nodding in and out of coherence, expecting at any moment for the truck to careen across the highway with the type of impact that had sent her car skidding off the Cullen's driveway. Instead, they safely cross the border into Canada and continue the journey into Washington, her eyes red and burning with wakeful weariness as the sky slowly lightens into a gray haze.

As they reach the Forks city limits, something in her heart stutters and fails, a breath of air she didn't realize she'd been holding passing her lips as her shoulders visibly sag. Jake's gaze darts her way, worried, before returning to the rain dampened road. "You can come to the res," he offers, the words tainted with the knowledge that she will not accept.

She doesn't hesitate in responding. "No, I just want to go home." Her voice is soft, her gaze blind as she stares down at her hands. She pushes away the thought that if Edward were to look for her anywhere, he would look for her at her father's house. "Besides," she adds as an afterthought, "I can't imagine anyone on the res would want to have anything to do with me."

Jake is silent with thought for a moment before his shoulder lifts with a shrug. "To be honest, they'll likely see it as evidence that you finally saw reason." Bella's lips tighten at the words but she knows it's true—and what's more, she should be grateful their assumptions are going to keep them out of her hair. "Either way," Jake continues, "I'll make sure no one bothers you."

She knows she should be reassured by his promise but she simply finds herself feeling lost and alone as he reverses out of the drive and turns down the narrow residential road back towards town. She stands on the bowed steps of the little clapboard house, awash in the memory of another gray drizzly day when she had waited on these same steps, Alice at her side, full of anticipation for a journey to a destination unknown.

Pushing away the memories, she crosses the porch and slams inside. Cleaning the cobwebs and layers of dust from every surface within the house manages to distract her for a short time. As the washing machine thumps away with clothes she had never managed to unpack after returning from the trip to Chicago, she drifts towards the kitchen, driven by the logical assumption that she should eat rather than any physical hunger.

A single bottle of ketchup in the fridge reminds her that Alice had emptied the shelves the day after she'd discovered the truth of what the Cullens are. The memory of that conversation beneath these same glaring, artificial lights temporarily knocks her breathless, Alice's words a haunting echo in her ears. _We were laughing together. We were friends._

It had been the truth…for a time. Bella recalls Alice's figure across from her own in the lodge library, keeping her company while Edward had hunted. She hears Alice's laugh, a bell ringing in her ears. She feels the pressure of Alice's restrained embrace beneath the dripping branches of the woods behind this very house, the scent of lavender everywhere.

Bella falls to her knees to the kitchen floor, filled with the realization that she hasn't only lost Edward—she has lost all of them. She covers her eyes with hands still smudged with dirt from cleaning the abandoned house, blotting the stupid tears with shaking hands. How could there be any other outcome but separation and loss? How could she have gone on with him? With all of them?

She pushes away from the floor, determined to move forward.

But her truck is gone, a damaged wreck located thousands of miles away, the driver's side door wedged shut. And nothing is within walking distance of her father's house, many of the main roads bereft of sidewalks. Bella chews on her lip, trying to think of a solution. Perhaps she can call Jake? She shakes her head at the thought, her lip reddening as her teeth work the tender flesh. She's already been such a bother to him, hitching a ride on a trip he'd expected to take alone—never mind her emotional state during the entire drive. She also can't help feeling the awkwardness of seeking assistance from someone who's already put himself at risk with the tribe for her sake; they'd all thought he was crazy for going up to Alaska in the first place—how can she ask him to do even more?

Bella thinks of the few acquaintances she'd made—both in the short time she'd lived in Charlie's house after his death, and from before, when she'd visited Forks during summer breaks. Her brow furrows at how short this mental list is, and how weak the ties she has to any of the names coming to mind. Finally, exhaling, she turns on her heel and crosses to the phone on the wall near the back door. She briefly hesitates before dialing, then quickly punches in a series of numbers and waits for the ringing to begin.

The conversation is quick and to the point, as she should have expected. Once it's done, she digs through the cupboards, trying to find any remnant of edible food. She eventually forces herself to choke down a few stale saltines with peanut butter before returning her attention to cleaning the empty house.

That night, she tells herself she's leaving the bedroom window open because of the warm summer air, that she has no expectation of Edward's appearance, that she's ready to move on with her life. But she finds herself tossing and turning, starting upright with every lonely cry of the night owls in the nearby woods.

When she crosses the landing the following morning, she is unsurprised to find her face wan and shadowed in the mirror over the sink, violet circles stark beneath her eyes. She spins away from the reflection with a snort of disgust and quickly climbs into the shower, turning up the hot water as high as she can bear, as if the pain of the heat can make her forget.

She tugs on a pair of jeans that fit much larger than she remembers and an old Forks Police Department tee shirt that she must have stolen from Charlie as a teenager. She has just finished dragging a brush through her hair when she hears a knock on the front door downstairs. Shoving her feet into sneakers, she trots down the flight of stairs and opens the door without thinking to ask who's behind the heavy panels. After all, Bella had known she would be on time.

"Christ, kid, are you sure you're well enough to come back to work?"

Margery's neutral expression had shifted to one of concern the instant she saw Bella's pale, drawn face, her slight figure noticeably thinner in oversized clothes.

"I—" Bella's gaze falls to the worn sneakers on her feet, forced by Margery's words to acknowledge that the change in her isn't only emotional, that the pain and sadness she's feeling have left a physical mark on her. "Maybe not," she finally answers, gaze steady as it rises to meet Margery's round face. "But I can't do much of anything without a car."

Margery nods, ever matter-of-fact, and turns on her heel to march down the porch steps to her sedan at the curb. Bella quickly shuts the door behind her and hurries after her former boss.

Margery doesn't speak much beyond what's necessary, asking a few cursory questions. "What happened to that old truck of yours? I would have thought that thing would be indestructible."

Bella pauses only a moment. "I was in an accident."

Margery glances in Bella's direction before her eyes return to the road. "Anyone hurt?"

"Just me," Bella answers shortly, trying to inject a note of humor that falls far short. As several minutes pass, she slowly realizes that her responses have avoided all of the troubling details much in the same way that Edward had once answered her questions during their sessions: always honest, but never divulging enough to reveal the full truth. Her gaze flies to the passenger side window, watching the passing houses with wide eyes, filled with the sudden certainty that the lives of the people inside are predictable, safe, steady, free of this turmoil.

The day seems endless despite Margery's taciturn presence, the drive to Port Angeles interminable and filled with memories of a similar drive under sunny skies. The lot of the car dealership feels like the setting of a surreal film, the grinning, chatty salesmen too upbeat, too eager for Bella to bear. She doesn't realize how strange she's acting, barely responding to the people around her, until she overhears Margery whisper, "She's been ill. And her father passed not too long ago."

It's at that point that she realizes it doesn't truly matter what choice she makes, that she simply wants to get away with the goal of the day accomplished. Heedlessly, she gestures towards a low, used pick-up in dusty blue, requesting the paperwork to make the purchase. Despite the reputation car salesmen are known for, they all seem slightly concerned at the swiftness with which she's made her decision, hesitating, repeatedly asking if she wants to take the pick-up for a test drive. "No. Just get me the paperwork."

Margery is waiting when Bella finally finishes signing all of the forms, her sturdy frame standing tensely next to her sedan. As Bella crosses the concrete lot to Margery's side, she lifts her hand and jangles the keys to the pick-up, trying to smile as she knows she should. Margery does not smile in return.

"Headed home now?" she asks once Bella is within earshot.

Bella nods. "The grocery store first. Then home."

"Look," Margery begins. She inhales deeply, her mouth thinning. "You're welcome back at the clinic whenever you're feeling a hundred per cent. But, Bella," she pauses. "I don't know if that's now."

Bella simply nods, unable to speak over the lump in her throat. Is she really so visibly affected? She feels the weight of Margery's hand on her shoulder before the slam of a car door echoes in her ears. Silently, she turns to cross back over the lot to her new truck, defeat evident in the slump of her shoulders, the looseness of her hands at her sides.

During the long drive back to Forks, she tries to tell herself that returning to her externship had only been a fleeting thought, that she has other options. Besides, the solitude in the unfamiliar confines of the truck are soothing after the tense silence of the drive up to Port Angeles in Margery's company. Hasn't she always been accustomed to being alone? Unwillingly, her mind flits back to her time at the lodge, to the mornings that she'd risen to find Esme cheerfully waiting with a carafe of coffee and a sweet greeting, to Irina's darting smile as she piled wood in the fireplace, to the sensation of the hard planes of Edward's body through the quilt he'd always drawn between them…

Bella shakes her head, as if she can physically shake off the memories, forcing herself to focus on the dark asphalt, the dash of yellow dividing the road, the unfamiliar rumble of the pick-up's engine.

Somehow she makes it back to town, her knuckles white where her fingers wrap around the steering wheel, her legs unsteady as she spills out of the truck into the Thriftway parking lot. Sucking in a breath, she tries to gather herself. Hadn't she come here once a week only a short time ago? Isn't this what's normal, rather than a slow, dangerous descent down unused mountain roads to a rural town and its meager shops? Shouldn't she be glad to return to this routine?

Bella drags her hands through her hair before forcing herself to go inside. Despite her lack of appetite, she know she can't go days without eating…especially if she ever wants Margery to have faith that she's ready to work again.

She rushes through the aisles, trying to avoid the few people shopping, knowing she would get curious stares even if they didn't recognize her as Charlie's sad daughter who's been strangely absent these past weeks. She finds herself staring determinedly at her checkbook as the cashier scans her items, ignoring the mishmash of bread, canned soup, dried pasta, and random vegetables making its way into flimsy plastic bags. She murmurs the softest 'no' when the bagger offers to help her to her car, hefting multiple bags in each arm as she awkwardly crosses the parking lot.

She feels as if she's run a gauntlet when she finally turns off the engine of the little truck in the driveway of her father's house. Her breathing is heavy, her eyes wide as she stares blankly at the house she knows so well…yet it feels foreign and unwelcoming, as if she doesn't belong.

Bella pushes away the contrary thought as she climbs out of the truck and reaches for the bags of groceries, determined to ignore these doubts and second thoughts. She made the right choice. How could she possibly have belonged among the Cullens?

Yet that night, she can't help leaving the window open again, self-loathing like a weight on her chest as she realizes she can no longer deny her hope, her unspoken desire that he'll come for her. Her hands curl into fists as she struggles to lie still beneath the blankets and sheets, angry with herself for harboring this longing, that she could want something so contrary to what she knows is right. She feels split down the middle, one hand reaching toward the memory of him, the other straining to get away.

But he doesn't come and she wakes as the birds begin to stir and sing outside her window, alert with the rising of the sun. She slowly shuffles from the bed, her body heavy, her eyes burning as she's only had a few hours of fitful sleep at best. The clock on her nightstand shows the hour is half past five but the light beyond the window gives the appearance of late morning; she had forgotten how long the days here, so different from her childhood in Arizona. She has no desire to remain in bed, knowing sleep will continue to elude her.

As the day goes on, however, she continually wishes she could escape the long minutes, the endless hours, by taking refuge in sleep. She tries to busy herself with making breakfast, but can't make herself eat more than a single slice of toast, dumping the eggs and bacon she'd cooked into the garbage. A long shower takes up thirty minutes, and she devotes more time than normal to drying her hair, as if the roar of the blow dryer can drown out the memories she keeps trying to ignore.

Losing herself in a book is a futile effort and she finds herself shoving her feet into sneakers and flying out the back door just as the clock in the hallway strikes ten. But this is perhaps an even worse attempt at distraction for there is nothing but her thoughts to keep her company. Bella tries to focus on the curling fern fronds bordering the path, the pine boughs heavy with needles above, the quiet whisper of the wind in the canopy of the forest that has so often been her refuge…but Edward's words continue to haunt her.

_I wanted to take you out properly._

She closes her eyes at the memory of their dinner in Chicago, of the wine she'd drunk, and the boldness with which she'd later acted, pushing them towards an intimacy he'd feared.

_To see you, of course._

Her lips thin, recalling her anger at his audacity, at how her heart had sped at what his words implied. Her pace unconsciously quickens, racing along the sodden trail through the woods.

_You are worth being kind to._

Her feet falter, her vision blurred.

_You are not broken…I would have you no other way._

She stops, choking for air, tears streaming down her face, despair and sorrow clenching in her guts. "But what could I have done differently?" she gasps to no one, covering her eyes with trembling hands.

_You could have stayed_.

The thought is an unbidden whisper but it echoes in her head like the tolling of a cathedral bell, ominous and inescapable. "No!" she cries, blindly spinning on her heel in a mad rush to return to the house.

She's breathless when she stumbles up the steps and slams through the door, eyes wild, lips parted as she pants for air. She stares at the phone, fighting the urge to call the number she'd memorized the day she'd discovered the truth, the day she'd decided Edward was too important to run away. Her face crumples and she sags against the wall, unable to stand upright.

That night, she is still fighting the desire to call him, to accept the terms of her life without him. She slams the bedroom window shut before ducking beneath the covers, determined to tamp down any hope that he'll come to her—and that she'll be waiting, ready.

Hours later, the moon high in the sky, she can't help tossing back the blankets and throwing the window wide. She leans against the sill, taking deep breaths of cool night air, her gaze rising to a violet sky studded with stars. She tries to tell herself that she isn't crushed that he has not come for her, that it's really the only thing to be expected. He had always listened to her, he had always done as she'd asked, departing this very house at her hysterical behest. Bella shakes her head, recalling just how well he'd listened in that instance, even insisting that Alice not look for her after the disastrous encounter with Jasper.

So why should he come for her now? Why should he come when she had left of her own accord? This was her choice, her decision—the only decision she'd felt she had left.

Her gaze falls to the darkness of the yard below, a gentle breeze stirring the tresses around her face, her hands unmoving where they rest upon the worn wood of the sill. Her features are soft as the realizations sweep over her, perhaps easier to accept in the quiet stillness of night, the only sound the whisper of tree branches against the roof above.

For it is becoming clear that she did not leave because she had no other choice. No, that had been only a small part of the reason for her impulsive flight from Edward. She inhales, lids sinking over tired eyes.

She had been afraid. She had been near paralyzed with fear, unable to voice her thoughts, unable to confront Edward and put words to what she truly wanted, to give life to the feelings in her heart.

Her eyes open, looking up to the night sky. She had been so afraid…afraid that he would leave her first, afraid that he did not care for her as his words and actions so often implied, afraid that if she let him in and he changed his mind or grew tired of her, she would not be able to survive the devastation of losing him.

Her breathing is ragged though her features remain unnaturally still, her struggle to breathe the only indication of her inner turmoil. Her mind reels with the acknowledgement that she had left because of fear as much as anything else, that she had run away rather than let Edward in. But how is her current state any better? She is a walking wound, barely able to eat, barely able to sleep, unable to think about anything but him. "It'll get better," she whispers, trying to convince herself that it is simply a matter of time, that she will heal and recover. But even as she says the words, faint and lost to the breeze, an internal voice shouts back that she is fooling herself.

Even if she somehow returns to the life she'd led before, obtaining her license, working either here in Forks or somewhere else…how can that possibly make her happy? How can anything compare to the intimacy and wonder she'd experienced with Edward?

The tear slips off her chin, a damp drop falling upon her folded hands.

Light filters through dew dampened panes, the flimsy curtains on either side of the window stirring with a faint breeze; Bella had not bothered to draw them back into place after returning to the torment of her sleepless bed. Her eyes are open and staring as the shadows across her pale face lighten and disappear with the coming dawn, but she does not rise.

As the hours pass, she continues to lie beneath the covers, unmoving. Her mind, however, is circling through the past, fixating on small moments, on words that had seemed insignificant at the time, awash in memories. From the recollection of Edward's sudden appearance at the clinic, gaze black and stormy, to the moment he'd carried her to the meadow, his expression somber and unyielding as he told her he would not change her, she replays every encounter between them, trying to pinpoint what she could have done differently—how the outcome could be something other than this.

Day slides into night but Bella only rouses to cross the landing to the bathroom, cutting her gaze away from any glimpse of the reflection in the mirror. Sliding back beneath the tangle of sheets and blankets, she can't help recalling the quilt Edward had always drawn between them, trying to shield her body from his cool skin, ever protective. Her brow furrows as she thinks that he had not protected her from the one thing that had driven them apart—that for all of his concern, he had never told her how he felt, what he wanted for their future. Though she has been full of recriminations these past hours for her lack of action, for her fear and inertia, she cannot believe that she is alone in this fault.

Bella circles through the memories again, recalling the push and pull that had marked their interactions from the first, how he had deliberately fed her discomfort by sharing details of her background during their second session, how he had piqued her curiosity with so many allusions and hints, letting her in and then shutting the door.

Could he possibly let her in now? After she has hurt them both by running away?

For she is beginning to realize that if his feelings are anything like hers, then how can he be any less affected by her departure?

It is this thought that finally sends her rearing from the bed, uncaring of the late hour, the wild tangle of her hair, or the concerning pallor of her skin. Still in the sweats and tee shirt she'd donned the night before, she flies down the steps, grabs her keys, and slams into the small blue truck in the driveway. Moments later, she is roaring down roads bereft of cars, the only illumination the glow of street light arcing overhead. Every house she passes is dark, her wild gaze darting down to the dashboard to read without reaction that the hour is just past three.

She eases her bare foot away from the brake as she reaches Calawah Way, uncertain she can find the drive to the house again in this pitch black night. But the close arch of evergreens and shrubs is as distinct as her own reflection, her hands turning the steering wheel unerringly up the drive.

Bella can't help recalling the sudden jerk of her old truck, thrown from the narrow gravel driveway by the blow of Jasper's attack, the whites of her eyes visible in the gloom as she peers with a wide gaze at her surroundings. But the drive is altered nearly beyond recognition, the rich green grass that had so resembled a golf course waving waist-high on either side of gravel strewn with leaves and pine needles.

Something catches in her throat to see the cedar shingled house dark and uninhabited, as if this absence marks for certain that Edward is not here, and he is not coming.

Nonetheless, she slams out of the truck after killing the ignition, heedless of her bare feet as she slides down from the cab. The prick and pain of the gravel is soon replaced by the soft bed of thick grass that surrounds the house, her hands drifting against the tall blades as she follows the path Esme had once tread.

Her eyes adjust to the darkness without the glare of her headlights to penetrate the inky night, slowly making out the sweep and bend of the tall grass in the gentle breeze, the grain of the cedar shingles to her right, the murky gray of the forest all around. She is taken back to that day, to the impulsive actions that had drawn her here despite all logic, to the reluctance she had felt when Esme made it impossible for her to leave.

Bella reaches the garden Esme had shown her with such pride, the rose bushes spindly and naked of blooms, the gravel paths strewn with desiccated leaves. She follows the winding paths towards the burbling sound of the creek, uncertain of the way but knowing she must be drawing closer as the sound of rushing water grows louder.

She is upon the Hostas before she expects to reach them, a gasp escaping her lips as she stops short, her hands flaring up at her sides. She is overcome, her body frozen with the flood of distinct memories, suddenly full of meaning she could not have comprehended at the time.

_Her eyes, the same rich amber color as her foster children, are filled with an emotion Bella can't identify. "These flowers only open at night."_

The Hostas are in full bloom at this hour, white petals stark and bright against the darkness of night. Like tiny trumpets, they tremble in the breeze, petals open to the sky.

Her response had been so naïve, senseless of what Esme was trying to tell her. _"Then who gets to enjoy them?"_

Esme had tried to explain, to imply without revealing. _"Oh, we all do."_

Bella bends down to the delicate flowers, her hands shaking as she reaches for the blooms as Esme had done that day. _"It isn't so difficult to adapt, especially when nature gives you no choice."_

The memories fall away but Bella doesn't let her hand drop, the tips of her fingers just touching the sweet flowers. She asks herself…can she wait for him, hoping that he'll change his mind? Bella's lungs burn as she holds her breath, searching her heart for the answer. And what's more, can she learn to accept her fate if he doesn't?

She returns home only to shower and pack a bag, her gaze bright though her heart races with nervousness at what she will find upon returning to the lodge. Will he forgive her for leaving? Will he open up to her as she needs him to? Can she let go of her fear and let him in? And what of the others? Irina's disappointment weighs on her shoulders like a physical burden, her breath growing short whenever she thinks of the day she'd run away.

Bella longs to drive through the night but is forced to stop at a motel in some remote road stop in British Columbia, her eyes burning as she makes herself lie down on the hard bed in the stale room. She sleeps only a few hours before springing upright, her body barely refreshed but unable to lie still any longer, returning to the road, and cup after cup of coffee from highway gas stations, in her journey back to Edward.

The sky slowly lightens and darkens again, and her eyes itch with weariness. She contemplates pulling over but her entire body fights the impulse, hands fisting around the steering wheel, teeth clenching behind tight lips. She will not stop. She cannot stop. She must return to him.

It is just approaching dawn when she finally finds the forest service road that will take her back to the lodge. Her hands shake as she turns the wheel, carefully following the narrow lane up the steep mountain. She knows she should have called ahead, that she could have mitigated a good deal of her anxiety by finding out how welcome she would be…but she fears rejection. And she is perhaps hopeful that her return will be more palatable in person rather than as a promise made via a static-ridden cell phone call.

Her heart races as she approaches the last sharp turn that will take her within view of the lodge. She knows they must have heard her approach, that they may be waiting for her, angry or welcoming…or perhaps a mix of both. Only the porch is empty but for one slight figure, pale face filled with fear and worry as Bella draws near.

Alice doesn't wait for her to slam out of the truck, rushing around to the driver's side door with anxious, fluttering hands. "Oh, Bella!"

"I know I should have called—" Bella tries to begin as she pulls the key from the ignition.

"It wouldn't have mattered!" Alice's voice is a near sob, her narrow face crumpling with sad helplessness. "I've been trying to get a hold of him for days—since before I saw you decide to come back!"

"Get a hold…?" Bella starts, confused, as she slides down from the cab.

She is relieved by the lack of hesitation with which Alice reaches for her hands, grasping them firmly within her own. "It's Edward. He's gone. He's gone and I don't know where he is."


	36. Sorrow

Thank you for reading and for your reviews.

* * *

><p><em>I fancy that we deserve sorrow.<em>

_A Room with a View_

**thirty-five**

Bella would have sunk to the ground; she can feel the drag of Alice's tight grip around her wrists, the strength in her delicate, thin figure like a rope dragging Bella from the pull of dark water.

"Alice…" she whispers as her vision dims, the narrow face framed by jet hair blurring into a mix of white and gray. She blinks, trying to clear her sight, struggling for air.

"Esme and Carlisle are trying to follow his trail but it's grown cold—" Alice is speaking quickly, the words almost buzz, nearly too fast for Bella to understand. Blearily, feeling drunk with weariness and shock, Bella turns her head, trying to see who Alice fears interruption from.

She can't help flinching as a furious shout echoes from the lodge, "How dare you!" The words are swiftly followed by a blur of white and gold through the open door; Bella's mind flits back to the sudden rush of Irina's darting figure, set to attack, ready to defend, streaking towards Jake's unresisting frame in the distance.

She staggers as Alice releases her wrists, nearly sagging into the door of the truck behind her, watching with parted lips as the tiny vampire spins into a defensive posture: back ever so slightly bowed, hands open at hip level, heels raised…as if ready to pounce. Bella's eyes lift and widen as she realizes it is not Irina's usually pleasant features glaring at her over Alice's shoulder. "How dare you leave him!" Instead it is Tanya's heart shaped face distorted by outrage, fists clenched at her sides, golden eyes narrowed to slits.

"Tanya," Alice's voice is a warning.

There is no indication that Tanya hears her, the furrow between her arched brows deepening, her narrowed gaze flickering over Bella's tousled hair and rumpled clothes, dismissive as ever.

"What gives you the audacity to walk away? To just leave him like that?" She sneers the words and Bella surfaces from her confusion and shock to register that Tanya's tone is rhetorical, that she does not expect a response to her harangue.

"Tanya," Alice begins again.

But Bella interrupts any attempt Alice might have made at peacekeeping, her own anger uncoiling inside, too tired to worry that Tanya could likely snap her spine in one easy motion. "Because I'm a lowly human?" Her eyes glitter, voice low. "I should have let him leave me first?"

Something like sorrow darts across Tanya's expression before the fury returns, intensified. "He never would have left you!"

All of Bella's anger and defensiveness whooshes from her lungs at this response, her eyes dropping to her feet as her shoulders sag. There is no doubting Tanya's conviction, her voice unwavering as she goes on. "Ask Alice! Ask Esme! You could ask him, if he wasn't licking his wounds somewhere!"

"You can't know that," Bella whispers, longing to deny even now the hopes that had brought her back to this place—that Edward might feel as strongly as her, that there might still be a chance. "How could you know that?" Her voice is a soft cry, fighting back the tears, her shock deepening at the knowledge that even Tanya had been able to see what she could not. Her hands tremble as she fights the urge to cover hear ears. "How could you possibly know that?"

Tanya's expression softens for the briefest moment. "How could you doubt it?"

Bella can barely breathe much less respond but it doesn't matter for it is this moment, this relenting pause in Tanya's anger, that gives Alice the confidence to relax her stance. She gives the blond vampire one quick warning glance before shifting to Bella's side and threading a slender arm through her own. "You have to come inside and sit down." Her concern is evident in her tone. "You look exhausted. When did you last sleep?"

Bella tries to think, focusing on this distracting question as Alice intended. "Yesterday?" she answers faintly. "The day before yesterday? I don't know." Then, gathering her thoughts, trying to recover from the blast of Tanya's confrontation, she asks, "When did Edward leave? Was it right away?"

Alice's nod is short as she guides Bella up the porch stairs, her voice emotionless as she responds, "He knew immediately—"

Tanya's voice is rough as she follows behind them, clearly not yet finished with her diatribe. "Irina told me he stormed into the lodge like he was possessed." Her following words are sharp, like daggers through Bella's chest. "He couldn't hear your heartbeat. He knew instantly you were gone."

Alice darts a quick glance over her shoulder, her gaze withering, before she guides Bella into the main room of the lodge and seats her upon one of the low leather couches.

"What?" Tanya asks defensively as she shifts on restless feet before the empty grate of the massive fireplace. Fresh anger glints in her gaze, brows low over amber eyes as she gestures in Bella's direction. "You don't want to tell her how he destroyed that blasted piano upstairs after he saw the note? Then raced out of here so fast, no one could—"

But Bella has begun crying, her face buried in her hands, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

"Tanya. Enough." Alice's gaze is uncompromising as she sinks to Bella's side, one comforting hand rubbing soothing circles into Bella's back.

"Fine," Tanya's voice is mutinous as she folds her arms over her chest. There is a long silence as Bella struggles to control her tears, wishing more than anything she didn't appear so weak before the superior vampire. To her surprise, Tanya allows her the moment to recover before speaking again. "Tell me," the curiosity and confusion in her voice is genuine. "Why did you go?"

"Because," Bella struggles for resolve but her voice cracks on a sob. "I was afraid."

The room falls silent but for Bella's labored breathing, Alice's hand stilling its circular motion against Bella's back. "Of Edward?" Alice softly asks, an undercurrent of worry beneath the words.

"No!" Bella turns on the cushion, uncaring of her tear-stained cheeks and red-rimmed eyes. "I was afraid he'd leave me!" She dashes at the tears, her voice nearly angry as she goes on. "I was afraid I'd bore him after he got over how silent my thoughts are to him. I had no idea how we would stay together if I keep aging and he stays the same—"

Alice cuts in, the question pointed. "_If_ you keep aging?"

Bella shakes her head. "It doesn't matter. He won't change me. At least," she is unaware how her tone grows hopeful, her head tilting at the possibility barely acknowledged to herself. "At least not right now. Maybe in time?" She shakes her head again. "Oh, I don't know. Whatever he decides, I'm willing to accept. I just can't…"

Alice nods, her expression contemplative.

"Where's Irina?" Bella asks, a sudden thought occuring to her. "I need to apologize—for leaving as I did, and forcing her to bear the brunt of it."

It is this statement that finally loosens Tanya's still tense stance, her features shifting from lingering frustration to surprise, before ultimately settling into a neutral mask. "She's hunting." Her full lips quirk ever so slightly. "We all wanted to be prepared for being in the company of a human again."

Bella realizes she's taking her own life into her hands for the second time that morning but can't bring herself to care. "Except for you." Her gaze is level and unafraid.

Another dart of surprise crosses Tanya's features before grudging respect finds its way into her gaze. "I fed this morning. I was far too eager to hear your reasoning to miss your arrival."

"I think we've heard enough for now," Alice breaks in, unwilling to let this combative thread of conversation continue. "You need to eat and sleep…but perhaps not in that order," she adds as Bella's eyes sink shut and slowly drift open.

"You're here," Alice adds firmly, one hand hooking under Bella's arm. "That's all that matters. We'll figure out where Edward is and go from there."

Alice's words seem to give Bella's body permission to begin shutting down in the fashion that it would not allow while she had been driving from the Olympic Peninsula to the mountainside lodge, her legs like jelly as Alice tugs her to her feet.

"Are you sure?" The words are a slur to Bella's ears, her cheeks warming with embarrassment at the extent of her weariness. Her feet seem to drag over the floorboards as Alice guides her down a shadowy corridor to a bedroom whose scent she remembers so well.

"Very sure," Alice's voice is firm but Bella can't help hearing a note of uncertainty in her tone, as if the seer's optimism has finally begun to crack.

But she can give no more thought to this for she is being tucked beneath worn blankets, her head cushioned upon soft pillows, her nose filled with the faint scent of lavender. She sinks behind the darkness of her eyelids, her breath flowing from her lungs in one long exhale.

She falls into dreaming immediately, like a curtain dropping into place before her gaze. She is with Edward, her arms wrapped around his neck, legs around his waist, clinging to his back as he streaks through the wildflowers and grass of an open meadow, the sun warm and golden above. She glances over her shoulder to see wolves swiftly weaving through the tall grass behind them, but she has no fear, tucking her face into his neck, inhaling the comforting scent of him. Rays of light glint off his skin, so bright she must close her eyes to avoid being blinded.

His pace is fast, the world a colorful blur, her hair streaming behind their joined figures like a wing. The wolves fall behind, lost in the distance, and she can't help the laughter that breaks from her throat.

Bella wakes with a start, abruptly realizing it has been so long since she laughed. She shifts up onto her elbows on the mattress, brow furrowed with thought, trying to remember. Her eyes sink shut as she drifts back, lost in the memory of this room, the light weak and gray. Edward's voice echoes through her head. _Are you taunting me—by daring to guess my thoughts when I have no idea of yours?_ She had laughed, caught up in teasing him, and he had tackled her, tickling her through the tangle of blankets and sheets.

"I thought you were up."

Alice's voice jerks her from the memory, eyes flaring wide as her breath catches in her throat, abruptly pulled back to the uncertainty of the present.

"I brought you something to eat." The diminutive vampire moves through the door, a tray in her small hands. Bella glances with disinterest at the sandwich, apple, and mug of tea neatly arranged there before her gaze slides up to fix on Alice's face.

"You're here." Having slept, Bella finds herself able to focus, to think of something other than her own weariness and her determination to get back to Edward.

"Of course I'm here," Alice softly replies, as if there could be no other answer. But her golden gaze is evasive, far too focused on the tray she is setting on the bed—as if there is any possibility she could upset its contents.

"Alice, please," Bella is unwilling to play this game, this duck and dodge of words and hints. "Tanya was horrid—yet you both left. Why?"

Alice's gaze flits to Bella's pale face before sinking away again. A resigned sigh eases past her lips before she turns, darting into the adjoining room and dragging a chair to the bedside. She sits, folding her legs beneath her, hands loosely laced in her lap. Bella waits patiently through all of this, waiting for her to speak. She is first unsurprised by what Alice confesses. "I saw something."

Bella nods, listening carefully, her gaze locked on Alice's downturned face though Alice's gaze is trained on her hands; she is struck again by how, at times, the fey girl can sometimes seem so old, too wise for an appearance so youthful. "I told Tanya what I saw—what she had triggered with her words," Alice continues. "Tanya was…appalled." Alice shakes her head. "Well, at first she didn't believe me. She grabbed me." Her hands rise, rubbing her upper arms in remembrance of the rough grasp. "She told me to stop what I had seen, to say something…but all I could see was that if I told you or Edward—or anyone—the vision solidified."

"Did you see me leave?" Bella asks softly, certain this must be the answer.

But Alice is shaking her head, amber eyes squeezing shut. "No. Your futures…they became spotty…shadowed."

Bella's breath stills in her chest, her hands unconsciously curling into fists. "What do you mean, Alice?"

Alice's gaze finally rises from her hands, but her golden eyes are filled with fear and distress, her lips moving though at first no words emerge. "Everything began to flicker." She looks away, unable to meet Bella's gaze. "Your futures…they were gone."

There is a long silence as Bella tries to absorb what this could mean, trying to accept what Alice had seen at the same moment that her heart fills with denial. She latches onto Alice's wording, that she is not speaking of only one fate, but two. _Your futures._ As if she and Edward are intertwined, inseparable. "Both of us?" she asks, the words a whisper.

Alice nods. "Everything began to flicker and change…it was chaotic. I could only glimpse things leading to that…to that outcome. To darkness." Her brows knit together. "I didn't need Tanya to tell me to act. My first instinct was to go to Edward, to find him and tell him—to stop it somehow."

It is Bella's turn to shake her head. "But that made it worse."

The furrow between Alice's inky brows deepens, golden eyes lifting again, frustration evident in her gaze. "I don't know why—everything was so unclear. But when I decided to tell you," her shoulders lift, a helpless motion. "Everything went dark."

Bella remembers that night, the palpable sadness that had seemed to fill the room as Esme shared her story. "It would only have driven home the fact that…" Bella's voice falters, even now hating to speak this truth. "—the fact that I'm going to die," she finishes weakly.

Alice reaches a hand towards the bed, her slim fingers wrapping around Bella's clenched fist. "The flickering—the shadows…they're gone now."

But this is cold comfort to Bella, her head shaking as she thinks of Edward, hurt, angry…and out there somewhere, avoiding them all. "But Edward isn't mortal," she protests. "Why would your visions have shown both of us gone?"

"Bella," Alice's voice is gentle, amber eyes wide and level over their joined hands. "Can't you see?" But Bella is shaking her head again, her throat closing as she denies the truth, unable to accept that she could have been so blind—that she could have run away from him given what Alice is saying. She sucks in a breath, blinking back the tears, fighting the wave of sorrow washing over her in the face of this reality. Alice's hand tightens over her own as she speaks the words Bella cannot. "He wouldn't want to live in a world without you."

Bella struggles for breath, her hand shaking within Alice's grasp, her lips quivering as she tries to form the words. "Even then?" Her voice is a protest, sharp with denial. "He would have ended his life even then for me? When we'd known each other only weeks?" She pushes away the knowledge of what they'd endured for each other, abandoning his family in the wake of Jasper's arrival, the confrontation with the wolves, the anxious flight up to Alaska, uncertain of whether they were being followed. She tries to belittle all she'd knowingly given up, her degree, her career, a settled, steady life, denying that she had sacrified much of anything at all. But it is useless. She hears the harsh rasp of her own breath, unable to deny this truth.

Alice's voice is soft, "Perhaps. But it's a future that never came to pass." She inhales. "I'm not even entirely certain _he_ knows. But from what I could see," her brow furrows again, almost angry at her adopted brother for this potential, unrealized decision. "He was resolved. He refused to go on."

"He can't do that!" Bella protests, teary eyes wide. "Not for me! I wouldn't ask that of him!"

"I know," Alice nods. "Does that perhaps make his desire to leave you as you are, as a human, more understandable?"

It is Bella's turn to frown, lifting her free hand to wipe at the dampness on her cheeks. "It's not the same thing. I want him to live. He wants me to…" But she can't say the word, for she knows that's not truly his desire. She shakes her head, struggling for the words. "He thinks he'd condemn me, making me like him. But we would have each other—just as you all have each other now."

Alice nods. "I agree with you but I can't speak for Edward. He may be fully resolved that such a thing will never come to pass…or he might change his mind if push came to shove." Her shoulders lift, a weary movement. "At this point, there is no solid outcome."

Bella bites her lips, fighting the urge to speak the question. But her curiosity wins the best of her. "You've not ever seen me…like you?"

Alice shakes her dark head, golden eyes falling to their linked hands. "Fragments that I sometimes think…but everything about your future is so chaotic." She laughs softly though there is little humor in the sound. "It would give me a headache if I suffered from the things."

"And you can't see him now?"

Alice shakes her head, her brow furrowing with a frustrated frown. "It's not that I can't see him. It's that I don't know where he is." Her lips thin, amber eyes briefly darting in and out of focus. "Evergreens. Mountains. Grey skies. It could be anywhere between here and Nova Scotia."

Bella's frown is equally frustrated, trying to make sense of what Alice is saying. "But doesn't he have to make decisions? Aren't there landmarks…or something?" It seems impossible that these supernatural creatures could ever be at a loss.

But Alice is shaking her head again, an exasperated puff of air passing her lips. "It's like…it's like when I used to look for Jasper. Edward is acting on instinct—passing from one forested area to another, hunting far too infrequently, avoiding humans the few times he catches the scent of a camper or hiker…" She sighs, the sound filled with weariness and frustration. "I'll glimpse a lake, or a highway, and think perhaps I've gotten a sense of where he could possibly be. And I call Esme and Carlisle, who've been trying to find him for the past five days—and by the time I see them arriving at whatever location we determine must be the place, Edward is gone."

Bella's voice is small and sad. "He doesn't want to be found."

Alice shakes her head stubbornly. "If he knew you were back, he'd be here in an instant. I don't doubt it one bit."

Bella tries not to despair but her voice lacks hope when she speaks, "But how to make him know?"

Alice's lips part, breath audibly passing in an out of her lungs. "I don't know. But he can't act on instinct forever." Bella can't help thinking Alice is speaking with a certainty born from her desires rather than any truth she's seen in her visions. "Regardless of how long it takes, you need to eat," Alice insists, changing the subject as she leans forward to scoot the tray closer to Bella's limp hands. "Edward would never forgive me if I let you waste away."

Bella manages a weak laugh at the truth of this sentiment before half-heartedly reaching for the sandwich and beginning to eat.

Alice remains with her for a few moments more before darting from the room with a vague murmur about the sisters returning from their hunt. After making a sizable dent in the food Alice had brought, Bella can't bring herself to stay in bed despite the weariness she still feels. She throws back the covers and rises on shaky legs. She thinks of showering, or of simply brushing her hair and splashing water over her face…but the desire to find Edward, to determine a plan and bring about his return, is too powerful.

She makes her way down the familiar corridors, sconces just flickering to life with the waning afternoon, a hand trailing along the knotted pine of the walls as if not fully trusting her feet to keep her body upright. Perhaps she should have tried to catch a few more hours sleep…

This thought dies as she reaches the main room of the lodge, lips parting and eyes growing wide as she sees the three sisters fanned before the windows, their stance bearing the unmistakable defensive posture that Alice had adopted earlier…when the tiny vampire had feared Tanya's anger might erupt into something physical.

"What's going on?" Bella doesn't realize how faint her voice, the words weak with fear. She imagines the wolves, or perhaps other vampires, nomads drawn to the scent of a vulnerable human here in the isolated woods. It is only when Alice turns from the front door where she had been pressed close to the panels, as if listening, that Bella realizes she's not far from wrong.

"It's Jasper." Her amber eyes dart back and forth, to where Irina, Kate and Tanya stand crouched before the lead-paned windows. A mixture of frustration and acceptance is evident in her expression. "He wanted to see you—that is, to meet you as safely as he could."

Bella's brow knits with confusion and she instinctively comes closer, moving further into the living area—until a low growl from one of the sisters brings her to an abrupt halt, a pale hand rising to her throat. Her gaze darts between their figures but none of the women have shifted an inch from their defensive stances, golden eyes unblinking as they stare beyond the windows.

"But why?" Bella manages to ask. She knows she should feel fear but she can only register confusion, still too tired and caught off guard by Edward's absence to fully comprehend the scene before her.

Alice crosses the room, white hands extended, taking Bella's trembling hands in her own. Her lips press together before parting to speak. "You know that Edward is able to read thoughts." Bella nods though this doesn't make anything about the current circumstances any clearer.

"But for mine."

Alice nods, amber eyes watchful as she continues. "Jasper can read…feelings." Her expression is open and almost beseeching, head tilting, as if willing Bella to understand this impossible fact. Her gaze darts over Bella's face, trying to ascertain whether this is too much for her in the wake of everything she's learned that day. Bella simply nods, giving Alice the indication she needs to go on. "Whatever emotion someone is feeling, he can sense it." Her bow-shaped lips thin, a brief, resolved movement. "And he can manipulate feelings as well."

It is this piece that finally brings a frown to Bella's features, lips twisting with disbelief.

Alice hurries to finish, the words rushing forth. "Jasper wanted to help—especially after I told him the condition you were in."

Bella shakes her head, trying to make sense of what Alice is saying. "To help?"

"I know what a strain the past weeks have been," Alice admits in a low voice. "Even before you'd left." Bella's gaze falls to their joined hands as her breath catches in her throat, unable to deny it. "Even without Jasper's power, I can see how worn down you are by all of this—and now, to come back here only to find Edward gone…" Alice shakes her head. "Too distressed to sleep. Too distracted to eat."

Bella eyes sink shut with the truth of all Alice is saying. She inhales, struggling for resolve—but she can only feel an empty longing for Edward in the space where her lungs should fill with air.

A low growl erupts from near the windows—Tanya's voice, imbued with impatience. "Just show her already."

Bella's gaze lifts to find Alice has turned her head ever so slightly. Though her words are no louder, Bella knows they are not intended for her. "Go ahead."

A sudden sense of intense calm fills Bella's very core, seeming to emanate from her stomach to her limbs, her shoulders sagging with relief as one thought echoes through her head. _Everything will be okay._ Like a wave drawing away from shore, the feeling lessens but doesn't entirely subside, her lips parting with the surprise of it.

A dozen thoughts crowd her head: that she doesn't deserve the relief of this artificial optimism and calm; a brief sense of fear at the potential power of such a thing; guilt for the fleeting desire that Jasper continue to do whatever he can to help her maintain her sanity; and finally, a question born from intense curiousity—and the certainty that Jasper might be the only one to provide her with optimism rooted in truth rather than manipulation.

Bella speaks quickly, before doubt can undermine her resolve. "Who was here when Edward left? Besides Irina?"

A dart of surprise crosses Alice's narrow face and Bella realizes her thoughts moved too quickly for the seer to anticipate this response to Jasper's ministrations. But she answers adroitly, perhaps ascertaining Bella's intention. "We were deep in the park—hunting. I didn't see you leave—perhaps because I was too focused on a future more distant than that day, perhaps because of the presence of the wolf…" Her shoulders lift helplessly, her hands falling away from Bella's.

A low, unmistakaly masculine voice calls from beyond the heavy front door. "But you saw Edward react."

Bella realizes that Jasper has raised his voice for her benefit, her head lifting to regard the blank panels of the door, briefly wishing she could speak to him properly.

Alice nods, amber eyes cast to the ground. "By the time we got to the lodge, he was already set on leaving."

Bella realizes this is her chance, her one chance to truly know, to gain real insight rather than relying on Tanya's angry assumptions, or her own hopes and desires, or Alice's vision of a future that never came to pass. "And what…" Her voice falters but she forces herself to continue. "What was he feeling?"

Silence envelops the room and Bella almost wishes for a clock to mark the passage of the eternal seconds. Finally, Jasper's voice rings from beyond the door. "Despair." There is no mistaking the somber reflection of his tone even with the weight of the door between them. "Tremendous despair. Worse than I've ever encountered." There is a moment of silence, as if he is thinking back. "Despair and resignation."

Alice adds, the words soft, "I could see him trying to decide—should he go after you?"

Jasper continues, "But he couldn't—he wouldn't. He was resigned to an outcome that he had suspected would occur all along."

Bella can't help gasping, "That I would leave him?" She feels as if she's been punched in the gut, unable to believe Edward could have harbored the same fears and worries.

Alice is shaking her head but it is Jasper's voice that emerges from outside. "When he would come to the cabin, even after Alice began to avoid him for fear of revealing the dark future she had seen," he pauses. "Even after, he still felt hope. He was worried; he suspected Alice had seen something that affected you both but after satisfying himself that I knew as little as he did… the hope would break through."

Bella can barely breathe, eyes wide and blind with the realization of what she had done to that hope by leaving. She is unsurprised to feel a wave of calm wash over her but beneath the current of contentment, the sorrow remains.

"We have to find him," she finally manages to speak.

Alice is nodding. "I tried to get him to stay. I told him I knew in my heart you wouldn't be able to stay away—"

"But I hadn't yet decided to return," Bella whispers.

Alice nods again, amber eyes wide and full of sadness. "And he could see it—he could tell from my thoughts that it was only my own hope." Her eyes sink shut. "Jasper contemplated stopping him, physically holding him back…but I could see that would only end with someone being hurt."

Jasper's voice picks up, "So Alice is holding me back, and Carlisle is trying to reassure all of us that Edward just needs a break." He pauses and Bella imagines his head bowed with regret. "And we let him go."

"Only days later," Alice continues, "I could see this was different—different than when Esme was changed." Her voice nearly breaks, "I couldn't see him coming back." She shakes her dark head. "That's when Esme and Carlisle left to try to find him." Her slight shoulders lift with a deep, needless breath. "And then I saw you decide to come back."

Bella would have cried for her misguided actions but the weight of Jasper's artificial calm is too heavy. Instead, she simply repeats, "We have to find him."

It is only later, after they've talked through a dozen possible locations based on Alice's wavering visions, does the physical weariness rear its head again. Bella could cry for the limitations of her body, wishing she was like them, untiring, able to strategize for hours as the light beyond the window grows weak and fails.

"I can stay up a few hours more," she tries to protest as Alice pulls her to her feet.

"You'll be able to think more clearly once you've slept," the tiny girl insists.

Bella bites her lip, realizing it's pointless to argue—and what's worse, she doesn't have the energy to do so.

This time, she doesn't sleep for a few hours, waking with the light outside the bedroom window unchanged. She is out through the night and most of the morning, her dreams plagued by Edward's figure, always just out of reach. She wakes with a deep frown furrowing her brow, still trying to solve the problem of finding him.

After showering, she makes her way to the kitchen; though she isn't hungry, she knows Alice won't let her pass by without insisting she eat. Given this, she shouldn't have been surprised to find the black-haired girl standing before the stove, hands a blur as she shreds cheese above a pot of pasta. "I've been practicing," she announces without turning around.

A half-smile flirts over Bella's lips before the expression falters; a thought has occurred to her, half-formed and fleeting. Alice had likely started to cook at least twenty minutes before; perhaps she had heard the plumbing come to life from the wing where Bella is staying. Perhaps it was the sound of her steps, heavy and slow against the floorboards as she moved from the bedroom to the bathroom. Or perhaps Alice had heard the swifter, unsteady breathing that indicated Bella had finally woken.

Bella approaches Alice slowly, pre-occupied, gaze blank, trying to untangle the knot of thoughts and ideas; from the conversation last night, going over the details of Alice's visions with a fine toothed comb, to the most recent call Alice had had with Carlisle and Esme, stranded somewhere in northern Alberta, certain they'd lost Edward's trail miles before, to Tanya's angry words, unwilling to let Bella return without a fight. _He couldn't hear your heartbeat. He knew instantly you were gone._

"Alice," Bella's voice is unknowingly sharp, as if angry with herself for not having thought of it sooner. "Didn't you say last night you were worried that if Esme and Carlisle actually do manage to come close, he'll take off the moment he hears their thoughts?" Alice turns from the pot of steaming food, eyes wide as she realizes the direction of Bella's thoughts. "And you all felt it would be far too risky for me to try to go out on my own," Bella continues. "Especially given the apparent altitude of some of the mountains where you've seen him in your visions."

"But if you were to join Carlisle and Esme," Alice picks up the thread, golden eyes going vague as she looks to the future. "They could take you to the remote places where I think I've seen him but stay out of range of his ability."

"And he'll know it's me," Bella's voice is a whisper, filled with burgeoning hope. "Because he'll hear my heartbeat—but he won't hear my thoughts."

Alice impulsively throws her arms around Bella's shoulders, her voice bright as she crows, "I knew you'd think more clearly once you'd slept!"

Bella's smile is more sincere now, acquiescing without protest when Alice begins dishing the pasta into a bowl. "If you eat, I'll give Carlisle and Esme a call and let them know they should head back to pick you up—and maybe pick up some supplies on the way…" Bella can't help grimacing around her first bite of food, knowing this will mean a delay. As if sensing her coming protest, Alice adds, "Not just food but perhaps cannisters of oxygen as well—in case you end up at a high altitude for an extended period of time." Bella can only nod, though her limbs are tingling with the desire to be on the road already.

But there are days to wait given how far Carlisle and Esme are from the mountains of Alaska. Bella cannot focus to read, restlessly pacing the main room of the lodge or going for long walks that fail to exhaust her twitching muscles. Though she goes to bed at a reasonable hour at Alice's insistence, she lies awake for hours, staring blankly at the ceiling as she anticipates the relief of finding Edward. She imagines what she'll say, the apologies, the acceptance of any future he'll agree to, the love for him she'd only realized she felt the day she'd tried to walk away from him.

Bella wakes with the dawn on the fourth day of her return to the lodge. She is disappointed to find Alice gone, unable to restrain her frown when Kate tells her, "She went up to the cabin." The blonde's impassive features are uncharacteristically sympathetic as she delivers the news that Alice is with Jasper, who still doesn't trust himself for long periods of time around the vulnerable human—even with the barrier of doors and walls. One of Kate's hands lifts, almost as if she might rest it upon Bella's shoulder. It hovers in the air, palm white, slender fingers open. "She said to tell you Carlisle and Esme should be here no later than tomorrow morning."

Bella nods with partial relief—though one more day feels as interminable as the last. "Okay," she exhales. "I guess I'll go…make breakfast or something," she sighs.

But she gets no further than the doorway of the room before a commotion just outside sends her spinning on her heels.

"Speak to me, darling! Please, oh, please…" The words are a despairing cry, the clatter of feet upon steps preceding the door swinging wide and crashing into the wall behind. "Kate! Irina! Tanya!"

It is Jasper, golden eyes wild with fear, the tiny figure of Alice curled in his arms. It is a testament to his panic and concern for her that he barely glances in Bella's direction—and she feels no fear at his appearance, rushing after Kate to his side, eyes wide as she tries to imagine what could have happened. She remembers Edward's claim that only fire can harm his kind; her gaze darts over what she can see of Alice's tightly curled frame but sees no marks on her pale skin.

Jasper sinks to his knees, his hands framing Alice's face as he begs, "Darling, please…" He looks up to Kate, his gaze beseeching. "She collapsed—mid-sentence. She was laughing…" He shakes his head. "I've never seen anything like it." His features twist as his gaze drops to her pale, shuttered features. "Alice, please, oh please…"

The blur of Tanya's figure joins his, kneeling on the floor at his side, fingers glancing ever so gently over Alice's tightly closed eyes. Her voice is firm, "Alice, what do you see?"

Jasper's voice is a whispered litany, begging for Alice to return to him, to open her eyes, to speak. Tanya's alto breaks in again, the words a loud demand. "Mary Alice Brandon, tell me what you see."

Alice's eyelids flutter but do not fully open, revealing only slivers of the whites of her eyes. Her lips finally part and Jasper gasps with relief…before they all freeze at her words. "Edward…fire…" Her voice is a cry, small but piercing. Bella staggers, a hand reaching out for something to brace herself upon. She does not realize until several seconds later that it is Irina she is leaning against, her gaze fixed upon Alice's delicate, tormented features.

"Where?" Tanya manages to ask, the only one to keep her head. "Where do you see this?"

Alice's neck turns, as if trying to shake free of Jasper's hands, features twisting. "Fire…fire…oh, Edward, please…"

"Where is the fire?" Tanya asks again, her own brow furrowed with concentration and worry.

Alice's voice is breathless. "The beach…he comes from the sea…to the beach…to where he is forbidden."

"Oh, Christ," Kate's voice is a whisper but may as well have been a shout. Bella finds herself struggling for air, unaware she is shaking her head, trying to deny what they are all coming to understand.

"The beach," Alice continues, her voice a weak whisper. "To the fire...to the fire from the sea."

Tanya is the only one strong enough to voice the supposition, the words faltering as they leave her mouth. "To the reservation?"

Alice's lids flutter, the white of her eyes nearly indistinguishable from the chalky pallor of her skin but for the dark outline of inky lashes. "To the reservation…to fire…to darkness."


	37. Passion is Sanity

**Reviewers will receive an excerpt from the opening of chapter 37.** This is partly because I have sucked mightily at responding to reviews in general, and partly because the last batch of chapters has been particularly cliffhanger heavy and it seems only fair given how long it's taken to get them posted.

Thanks to Ordinvary Vamp, The Old One and Elizabeth440 for all of their feedback, particularly with this chapter-you guys got back to me _fast_! & thank you to all of you for bothering to read in the first place, whether you review or not.

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><p>"<em>Passion does not blind. No. Passion is sanity, and the woman you love, she is the only person you will ever really understand."<em>

_A Room with a View_

**thirty-six**

It is only later that she will numbly note the bruises on her arms, proof of how hard Irina had to restrain her from leaving. For her only thoughts are of going there, of getting in her truck and driving as fast as she can, unstopping, until she reaches the shores of the reservation. "No, no, no, no, no…" The word is a torrent, one that she does not realize she is speaking out loud until the binds of Irina's arms register above the desperate, awful news that the darkness Alice had seen once before is now destined to pass.

"Let me go! Edward…I have to go….Please…oh, please, just let me go!" But they will not listen, Tanya's voice a hard order above Alice's murmured predictions and her own desperate cries.

"When, Alice? When will this happen?" Then, to Irina, "Hold her steady. If this is all set to happen in the next hour, there's hardly any reason to let her speed off—likely to get in an accident the moment she gets to the highway."

But Bella is senseless to this practicality, straining against Irina's arms, her desperation growing like a dam set to burst inside. "No!" If he's gone, then what will she do? Where will she go? How can she go on? "No!" she is wild with panic and grief, scratching at the cold hard skin of Irina's arms, heedless of how her nails are breaking against the unyielding flesh. "Let me go!"

An abrupt wave of calm slams into her so hard that she sags as if struck in Irina's restraining embrace, her protests dying to a desperate whisper. "Please…" Another wave of calm washes over her, all consuming, her eyes sinking shut as she tries to fight the artificial emotion. "Please…don't…" But it is no use, the world sinking away as her vision goes dark.

She comes to stretched out on one of the leather sofas, the sky still light beyond the tree tops outside. Disoriented, she wonders at the terrible dream creeping at the edges of her consciousness, lifting a hand to her head, groggy.

But it was not a dream.

Bella scrambles to her feet, breath caught in her lungs, gaze darting to the door before she realizes she must get her wallet and keys first. "Bella," Tanya's voice is hard, yanking her from her frantic planning, from the desperate clamor of her thoughts. She spins to face the chair from which the voice emerged, braced to argue. "I'm not going to try to stop you," Tanya continues before Bella can speak. Her heart-shaped face is shadowed, sorrow apparent in her golden eyes.

Bella shifts course, trying to recollect the last murmurs of Alice's prediction before Jasper had hit her with such a wave of calm, she'd passed out. "The reservation…but when?" Her stare does not waver as she meets Tanya's weary gaze, a flicker of hope fluttering in her breast, unable to bear the thought that she might be too late.

But Tanya is shaking her head, amber eyes sinking shut. "At sea. That was all she could see when I asked her where he was in the next hour, the next day. At sea," she sighs.

Bella has already stumbled to her feet, denying the head rush she feels at how swiftly she'd stood, her pace quickening as she heads towards the corridor. She can hear the soft pad of Tanya's feet upon the floorboards behind her but doesn't slow when the vampire speaks, "I can come with you. Or perhaps Jasper—he could try to calm the tribe if there's still a chance…" her voice falters on the words before she angrily mutters, "Trust that when Edward finally makes a decision, this is the one he makes."

Bella shakes her head as she turns into her room and reaches for her coat, shoving her arms into the sleeves. She is surprised by how even her voice sounds when she speaks. "This is my fault. I can't drag any of you into this. Edward broke the treaty for me. He left because of me. It isn't fair to involve anyone else." She inhales, turning to face Tanya, grim and resolved. "I won't risk anyone else getting hurt."

"But for yourself?" Tanya challenges.

Bella simply nods. After seeing the anguish and fear with which Jasper had reacted to Alice's incapacitating vision, she could never forgive herself if she was at fault for separating them forever.

"You could wait for Carlisle and Esme. They'll be back at dawn."

"And risk being too late to intervene."

"You could be too late now."

Bella swallows, the hope in her breast flickering, struggling. "That's a risk I'm willing to take."

Tanya is shaking her head but reluctant admiration shines in her eyes. "What are you going to do? Physically stop him? How will you get past the wolves? Isn't that the very reason he's approaching from the water? Because he knows they'll detect his approach otherwise?"

Something angry and stubborn hardens in Bella's chest, her brows lowering as she grabs her keys and wallet. "He's doing this because he thinks I don't want him. I have to believe that if he only knew…" But she can't go on, turning away from Tanya and struggling for breath. She refuses to believe she's too late. She turns to the bedroom door but hesitates on the threshold, recalling one last item she needs. Grabbing her largely unused cell from the nightstand, she hurries back to the corridor. "Where's Alice?" she asks over her shoulder.

"In the north wing," Tanya answers as she continues to act as Bella's shadow, following her down the hall. She softly directs the way to the suite where Jasper took Alice after Bella had fainted, a masculine voice murmuring inside. One cold hand on Bella's wrist stops her from knocking and entering; Bella's gaze darts up to Tanya's face, her eyes growing wide at the mixture of sadness and regret there.

"I only wanted to say," Tanya's voice is soft, her gaze falling to where her hand rests on the delicate bones of Bella's wrist. "I'm sorry."

"Tanya—" Bella tries to protest, to tell her it isn't necessary.

But Tanya speaks swiftly, as if knowing this may be the last time she sees the human girl. "I'm sorry not only for how I behaved…but for how I doubted the depth of your feelings." She shakes her head, her voice unbearably sad. "I could see…for all of my accusing you of hero-worship…I could see you saw him as human."

Bella sucks in a breath, too shocked by this insight to remain silent. "But I shouldn't have!" she interrupts, protesting. "If only I'd accepted what he was—and what that meant for us…" She chokes on the final words, by her unintentional use of the past tense.

"But don't see you?" Tanya tilts her head. "Can't you see that he needed that?" The words are a plea, enjoining Bella to understand. Bella is so caught off guard by this reversal of their roles, by the superior vampire asking anything of her, that she finds she can't breathe. "Being with you," Tanya goes on, her voice soft, "seeing himself through your eyes gave him back the humanity he always insisted was such a façade." She shakes her blond head, golden eyes sinking shut. "And the way he saw you—it elevated you above being merely human."

"I—" Bella doesn't know what to say, her skin chilled by Tanya's touch, her heart full with Tanya's insight. "Thank you."

The beautiful vampire simply nods and releases Bella's wrist, turning on her heel and leaving her at the threshold.

Bella doesn't watch her go, a sense of urgency returning as she faces the door and gently knocks upon the heavy wood slats. "Come in," Jasper's voice calls from within and she twists the knob before stepping inside.

The room is all shadows, the curtains closed, and her eyes take a moment to adjust to the weak light. She pauses, trying to gather her thoughts, to muster up the courage to potentially hear that her decision has changed nothing of Alice's vision.

But the questions falter on her lips as she realizes the seer does not appear to have altered much beyond the catatonic state she had fallen into upon learning the fate of her brother; Alice's eyes are closed, her body curled into a ball upon the wrought iron bed. Worry for the fey girl marks Bella's expression as she asks, "Is she alright?"

"She's better," Jasper's voice is grim, his arms a protective ring around her shoulders, his body curved over her. Bella feels no fear at his nearness, unable to believe anything could tempt him from Alice's side.

Alice's eyes flutter open and Bella is relieved to see the amber of her irises…but her gaze is still vague, as if she cannot stop herself from constantly looking to the future, trying to see Edward there, beyond the fire and darkness.

Bella steps further into the room, her voice soft as she speaks. "Alice," she begins, "I'm going back to Washington, to the peninsula…to the reservation."

Though she knows Jasper has no need to breathe, she can't help thinking they're both waiting with baited breath, anticipating Alice's response.

Only nothing happens.

Bella bites back a sob, the denial rising like thunder in her limbs. It can't be too late. It can't.

"Are you sure—" Jasper begins, his gaze rising from Alice's white features to Bella's stricken face.

But she is speaking before he can finish the sentence, the words breathless with anger and stubborn desperation. "I have to try. I can't let him destroy himself for me—for no reason. I can't."

Jasper simply nods, his voice quiet when he responds, "You should let one of the sisters drive with you—at least as far as the border." The concern in his expression, the worry this creature has for her when he had once been the source of so much fear and anxiety for Edward, leaves her unable to swallow.

She nods her head sharply, turning to go back through the door, determined to get on the road immediately. Then, remembering the item she'd pocketed from the nightstand in her room, she turns back, her voice hard and insistent, as if in saying the words, she can will it to happen. "If anything changes—anything—just, please…call me."

Jasper simply nods, lips thin, before his golden gaze turns back to Alice.

Her course decided, Bella rushes down the corridors of the lodge, pushing away the thought that this might be the last time she crosses these knotted pine floors, that she will have no reason to return if Edward is no longer in the world. She slams through the front door, lungs burning for air, her hand a fist around her keys. She is nearly panting as she stutters down the steps, unsurprised to find Irina in the passenger seat of the light blue truck.

"I thought you might want the distraction of driving for a bit," the blonde quietly states, voice even, golden eyes fixed upon the dirt road beyond the windshield.

Bella simply nods, climbing into the driver's seat and gunning the engine into life.

But the drive is no distraction; it is torture. Once they reach the highway and she no longer has the pitted, dusty forest service road to navigate, her mind becomes an echo chamber of self-recriminations and regret. If only she hadn't left. If only she had acknowledged how she felt for him sooner. If only she'd had the insight to see Edward was full of the same fears as her. If only…if only…if only…

The fear that she is already too late, that what Alice had seen has already come to pass, is like a black pit into which she feels herself constantly sliding, her hope like a frail branch that she clings to with both hands. Thankfully, Irina doesn't fill the silence with banal chatter or false platitudes that everything will turn out. Nor does she comment on how frequently Bella checks the cell phone in her jacket pocket, desperate for a call from Alice or even Jacob, with whom she's left several cryptic messages in the hope that she might find an ally in him. But the phone does not ring and Bella finally stops checking it, no longer able to bear the spike of disappointment at seeing she has no missed calls.

It is only after the sky has darkened to the deepest black that the vampire speaks, the words gently insistent. "You should try to rest. I'll drive."

Instinctive protests rise to Bella's lips, entirely uncertain she could bring herself to close her eyes long enough to sleep. Her nerves are as taut as a bow, blood pumping through her veins as though she's been running miles rather than trapped behind the wheel of the truck. Yet…her lids have been fluttering for the past hour, struggling to stay open.

"I will survive an accident, Bella, but you may not."

Inhaling, Bella finally nods before pulling over, signaling out of habit though no other cars have passed them for hours. She hurries around to the opposite side of the truck after yanking on the parking brake, desperate to get back on the road, uncertain whether another minute lost is the minute she might need to beat Edward to the shores of the reservation. Irina does not hesitate as she returns to the highway, somehow managing to release the parking brake, adjust the mirrors and snap on her seatbelt in a matter of seconds. Regardless, Bella's fingers twitch with the desire to be behind the wheel, eyes wide as she stares up at the endless black of the sky, hungry for any sense that she can control the outcome of this desperate trip.

But perhaps she can close her eyes for a moment, the dark of her lids so similar to the black of the sky, a brief break from the desperate loop of her thoughts…

Sky transitions to water, clear and pristine and shot through with the brightest blue. Her gaze lifts, burned by the chlorine in the pool, filled with tears that she will later be grateful do not show against her damp cheeks. She had longed for an invitation to one of the many pool parties thrown by the kids at school, a common occurrence in the heat of Arizona. She suspected Jessica had invited her out of pity but had hoped against all hope that she was wrong. Only now, after having been shoved in at the deep end, a sharp, malicious laugh echoing in her ears before the rush of water muted everything, did she know for certain.

Arms suddenly locked around her waist, dragging her to the surface, an angry voice barking in her ear as she sucked in a desperate lung full of air, "What are you doing here if you can't swim?!"

Bella starts awake and is filled with a sudden sense of relief as she registers the faint scent of lavender and the sensation of cool skin beneath thin fabric under her cheek.

A gentle voice pulls her back to reality. "You were dreaming."

Bella rears away from Irina's shoulder, sucking in a breath with the realization that she is not with Edward—that she has not somehow returned to the time she had spent driving these same roads with him, contrarily happy despite the fact they were fleeing the Quileutes, the future still full of hope and promise. Sudden tears prick her eyes and she drags her hands over her face, barely able to stand the abrupt return to this reality.

She does not fall asleep again, her eyes burning and watchful as the sun slowly rises over the conifer forests crowding the highway.

The hours pass, torturously slow and yet all too fast, her cell phone stubbornly silent. Irina does not protest when Bella asks to take the wheel again, simply hopping out of the truck whenever they stop for gas to buy coffee and some sort of sustenance, her features impassive when Bella downs the black liquid and ignores the food.

Day has faded to night again when Irina breaks the silence, her voice somber. "This is where I take my leave."

Bella starts, unaware she'd sunk into a sort of fugue state, numb and silent but for an inner voice urging her on, determined to find Edward, certain she will get there in time, entirely unable to contemplate any other outcome.

Her gaze rises to the signs marching along the roadside, blinking with surprise as she sees they're nearly to the border. She is only hours from the reservation, hours from Edward.

She glances to Irina, a frown passing over her brow. "But how will you get back to Alaska?"

Irina shrugs, her lips quirking. "I will run. Or perhaps hitchhike. No matter." Bella nods as she slowly pulls over to the shoulder, trying to shake off her lethargy, to form the words of thanks for Irina's assistance in driving and blessfully taciturn company.

But Irina speaks first, her amber eyes on her hands, her words quiet and sincere. "You are in our hearts, Bella."

Then she is gone, slipping through the passenger door, her figure a blur of white and gold in the darkness of night, darting into the woods near the road. Though she is uncertain Irina can hear her, Bella can't help choking, "Thank you." It is several minutes before she is able to turn the wheel back to the road, her vision blurred with tears.

Once she crosses the border, the cacophony of doubts and fears begin anew, red-rimmed eyes darting over the road as she desperately seeks some solution. For what will she say when she reaches the reservation? In warning the Quileutes of Edward's imminent arrival, might she only put him at further risk? What if he's already there? What could she possibly say to prevent the Quileutes from attacking him? And what if they see her as equally at fault for Edward's presence on their land? Will they attack her? And will she care if they do?

Her mind reels through these questions and fears, her lids fluttering with the desperate physical need to sleep though she knows there is no possible way she could rest. Frantically, she hangs on to hope—that Jacob might have gotten her messages, that she'll reach Edward before he reaches the Quileutes, that the tribe will see reason and let them go…

Rays of light have just begun to creep over the horizon when the wheels of the truck find the highway to Forks, and the Quileute reservation beyond. Her hand inches into the pocket of her jacket and doesn't leave, fingers clenched around the cell phone there, unable to believe Alice would fail to call if her visions had altered…yet, if there was any chance Bella would reach Edward in time, wouldn't the seer have known?

"It can't be," Bella whispers, her hand forming a fist around the phone. "I can't believe it. I won't." She simply can't be too late. She couldn't live with herself if Edward—but no, she won't allow herself to think of such a thing. It can't be possible.

The tree tops have become distinct and visible in the early morning light when her truck ghosts over the border of tribal lands, her breath caught in her lungs, waiting, watching, heart pounding in her chest.

But the narrow, winding lanes of the reservation are quiet at this hour. There are no women and children fleeing in one direction as the Quileute men head in another, ready to battle the vampire threat. There are no sirens sounding, no cars squealing from driveways, no angry barks and howls as she had heard through the night of her captivity in the Clearwater house.

There is only silence and wisps of fog trailing around the towering trees, little trailers and ramshackle houses tucked beneath their branches. Bella's hands, clenched around the steering wheel and fisted in her pocket, shake with weariness and anticipation as she wheels towards the beach, hope blooming anew in her breast.

Perhaps Alice did not see anything because of the wolves, her vision always blurred and uncertain where the Quileutes were concerned. Perhaps Edward is still at sea, waiting for the tribe to wake and rise. As she turns towards the ocean, the gray waves calm and steady, the pulse of the tide drowning out the hum of her engine, she can't help turning her gaze from the road to the water, searching for a distant, bobbing face.

But as she draws closer to the beach, her brow furrows…for it is not the beach she knows, the pale bones of driftwood scattered at even angles upon the shore, deposited by the ceaseless tide. Her heart stutters in her chest before her skin breaks out in a cold sweat upon seeing the giant black mark that scars the ground, evidence of a huge pyre.

Adrenaline surges through her limbs, uncaring that the engine of her truck is still running as she wrenches on the parking brake and staggers from the cab. Her feet slip and slide on the sandy gravel path that leads down to the beach, disbelieving even as she draws near, unwilling to concede she could be too late.

"Edward," she whispers, her heart crashing against her ribs, her hands trembling as she approaches the blackened circle scarring the beach, the faint scent of burnt wood mixing with the salt sea on the damp air. She stops only when she steps on something unexpectedly soft, dragging her gaze from the circle of ashes and charred wood ahead. Her lips part on a soundless gasp as she sees the torn fragments of a shirt beneath her foot.

The cell phone still clenched in her hand clatters to the rocks at her feet. "No." The word is a vehement whisper, her eyes briefly sinking shut. It can't be. But as her gaze darts around the beach she sees what she had not noticed in her intent focus on the distinguished pyre—there are torn clothes everywhere, evidence of wolves phasing where they stood. "No," she softly cries, shaking her head as she closes her eyes, unwilling to believe, unable to believe he could be gone.

"What are you doing here?"

Bella spins, her mind dully registering the familiarity of the voice but unable to place who is speaking until she sees Leah Clearwater before her. The dark-haired girl's stiffly upright figure is crossing the rocky beach, hands fists at her sides, her tanned face a mask of fury and outrage.

"Leah," Bella begins, desperate for answers, eager to learn that her eyes have misled her, that Edward is somehow unhurt.

"What are you doing here?" Leah cuts in, her words like venom. "How dare you show your face here?"

"I—" Delirious with lack of sleep, barely able to believe these circumstances are real, Bella fumbles for the words that will help return her hopes.

"Did you know he was coming?" Leah demands, uncaring of Bella's response. Her lips tighten over her teeth, as if she is physically restraining herself from lashing out. "Not that it matters," she sneers. "He didn't even fight."

Leah doesn't register Bella's changed demeanor at these words, too caught up in her own anger to notice or care; she doesn't see that Bella has physically sagged, hands limp at her sides, all of the light dying from her gaze. "And you dare to show your face here." Her glossy head tilts back before a gob of spittle erupts past her lips, landing at Bella's feet. "Go! You're not welcome here."

Bella doesn't know how her trembling legs manage to find their way back up the beach, nearly falling to her knees on the steep path leading to the gravel lot above the shore. Her mind is in a complete fog as she slams into the truck and turns the wheel, the tires smoking as she peels out of the lot. Her eyes are blank as her thoughts whirl with words said and unsaid, an echo chamber reverberating with moments from the past, entirely unable to bear the present.

"_Why do you think you're here?"_

"_I was told to come." _

She can see him across the desk from her even now, as distinct as if it had only occurred yesterday, eyes black and inscrutable, lips quirking as he ably ducked and dodged her questions. She can feel those same lips upon her own, cool and sweet, her fingers lifting from the steering wheel to ghost over her mouth.

"_It's a well kept secret."_ Her voice had been wry, trying to return the conversation to levity, annoyed at her inability to control her emotions around him.

"_That Bella Swan has feelings?"_ Edward's response had knocked the breath from her lungs, her gaze stunned and unseeing as he allowed the remaining minutes of their visit to tick past. She thinks now how he had been the only one to see those feelings, to pierce past the reserve and distance, to know her.

"_Our time is nearly up."_

And just as when she'd come across the bunch of forget-me-nots, bruised against the glass of her wind shield, she is murmuring the same word over and over, unable to believe the truth. "No, no, no, no. No!"

Only now the denial transforms into a sob, her throat raw as she screams the word aloud. "_No_!"

The brakes of the truck squeal as she slams her foot down, panting for air, eyes wild and blind. She cannot care that she is on a winding two lane road, cannot be grateful there are no other cars around, cannot register anything other than denial and pain as the truth begins to take hold.

"No! No! No…" The final word is a wail as she pounds her fists against the steering wheel of the truck, beating the leather clad circle over and over until her hands are red and swollen. He can't be gone! He can't be. What will she do? Where will she go? How will she ever go on knowing he's gone? And it's all her fault…

"No, no, no, no, no," the word is a litany, her lips barely moving as her eyes sink shut, tears spilling past her lids, bruised hands clenching into fists in her lap. "Edward, please!" She is panting for breath, her gaze rising to the roof of the truck, blind with tears. "Oh, please God, no…"

Bella flings herself from the car, stumbling in her haste, her gaze clearing long enough to see she is opposite the cliffs from which she'd seen the Quileutes diving last summer, tanned bodies slicing through the air to rough waters below. She doesn't know how her feet find their way across the road and over the tangle of brush and grass to the cliff edge, her vision blurring in and out of focus, the beat of her heart echoing in her ears, cheeks damp with tears.

"Oh, Edward," she whispers.

The tide is out, unlike the day she had seen Jake and Embry and Paul leaping from this precipice, the foam and froth of the sea below failing to conceal jagged rocks just beneath the surface.

Bella closes her eyes, her breath coming easier, her pulse slowing.

_It is, on the whole, a merciful arrangement. We are not condemned to sustained flights of being, but are constantly refreshed by little holidays from ourselves. We are intermittent creatures, always falling to little ends and rising to little new beginnings._

But there is no new beginning for her. Edward had been the only one.

It is barely a decision, simply reacting, trying to avert what she cannot bear to happen. Her bruised hands shake as she lifts them, remembering how she had braced herself against the sash of Leah's bedroom window. She opens her eyes but does not look down to the churning sea below, gaze lifting to the endless gray of the sky.

"_Do you trust me?"_

Bella steps forward, falling into the embracing sky.


	38. The Old Life

Thank you so much for all of your reviews to the previous chapter, and responses to the teaser. In addition, thank you for the nomination over at the Lemonade Stand, and for any recommendations posted elsewhere.

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><p>"<em>But I say it's not enough—you can't go back to the old life if you wanted to. Too much has happened."<em>

"_I know that," she said sadly._

"_Not only pain and sorrow, but wonderful things…"_

_Where Angels Fear to Tread_

**thirty-seven**

_I've lost Dad and now I've lost Jake_.

There are no sidewalks in La Push but her feet move unerringly across the asphalt shoulder, black eyes barely lifting from the damp, torn clothes clutched in her hands.

_I've lost Dad and now I've lost Jake._

The words are a bitter refrain, angry tears pricking her eyes as her figure swiftly cuts through the winding streets and back roads of the town she has lived in since birth. She refuses to lift a hand from the clothes held close to her chest, blinking rapidly to prevent the tears from falling. She hates crying, loathes any appearance of weakness, her lips thinning to prevent their trembling. Her dad had always said she should have been a boy; his little hoyden with skinned knees and bruised shins, too impatient to let her hair grow past her shoulders, a spitfire more comfortable in Jake's garage than her mother's kitchen.

But now her dad is gone and she has to be strong for Seth and her mom. Jake had been the only one to see her cry in the wake of her father's death, the only one she could allow herself to be weak and soft with…but now she's lost him, too.

Leah's tread is angry and heavy as she stomps up the paved path to the Clearwater house, slamming the screen door behind her. She crosses the living room to the kitchen, drawn by the sound of voices, fury rising in her chest. _I've lost Dad and now I've lost Jake._ For there he is, standing at the sink with a cup of coffee in one tanned hand while that bloodsucker sits at the kitchen table, his head in his hands.

She resists a growl of frustration as the vampire speaks, his voice melodic and doubtful. "How can you be sure?"

"I'm telling you, man," Jake replies, lips twisting. "She was a wreck. There's no way she went off to Phoenix or Seattle…or wherever. Dollars to donuts, I bet she's out there looking for you."

How can he be comforting this awful creature? "I got your clothes from the beach," Leah interrupts, her voice sharp. "I don't think the shirt can be mended but my mom can probably sew up the jeans."

"If she ever forgives me," Jake sighs.

A puff of exasperation passes Leah's lips, wordlessly expressing her doubt on the matter. If anything, she's grateful her mom and Seth are visiting cousins up near Tulalip and didn't have to bear witness to the excruciating embarrassment of the night before.

Her gaze falls to her hands, her lips twisting mutinously at the memory. She had thought the night would end so differently, a moment of relief in the chaos and grief of the past few weeks. Most of the younger kids had gone home earlier, only teenagers and adults left circled around the bonfire at that late hour, the moon high and bright in the sky. Curled up against Jake's side, his jacket over her shoulders, the glow of the bonfire warming her cheeks, she had thought to herself that perhaps she could begin to feel normal again. Though she and Jake had argued about his insane trip up to Alaska, he had returned safely and remained thankfully silent on the topic of whatever he had experienced there. It was bad enough he'd defied Sam and put himself in danger so soon after she'd lost her dad, but at least he hadn't come back with tales of how vampires were actually lovely and harmless.

If anything, she was full of anticipation knowing that her mom and Seth were out of the house. She and Jake could be alone, the house mercifully empty. And if she found herself crying as she drifted off to sleep, memories of her dad fresh and sharp in her mind, then at least Jake would be there, a comforting presence.

But it was not to be. Leah doesn't know who sensed the vampire's presence first, only that people were suddenly on their feet and running in all directions, camp chairs turned upright, beer cans and plates of food falling to the ground. She had stumbled back—or Jake had lunged forward…she isn't sure. But as she had gained her footing, eyes rising from her unsteady feet, she had seen the pale figure, dripping with water, hair slick against his head, eyes black and empty as he slowly approached the melee.

In retrospect she wonders that her first instinct had not been to flee, to follow the others scrambling through the darkness towards the steep path that led to the gravel lot above the beach. But she had been frozen, mouth agape, eyes wide as she watched the vampire draw closer to the fire.

Her eyes had only shifted from his figure at the sound of a tortured groan—swiftly followed by the angry snarls and barks of an angry wolf. _It's Sam_, she thought, uncaring in these circumstances of someone seeing him phase, intent only on protecting the tribe. The large, hulking shape of the wolf had bounded around the fire, coming to a halt directly opposite the strangely languid vampire; it was almost as if the bloodsucker was sleepwalking, features blank, his gaze so terribly empty.

The sound of shredding clothes, seams protesting, fabric stretching and tearing, mixed with the snap of the fire—followed by the enraged snarls and howls of the wolves phasing in the light of the flames. Leah knew she should run but she was hypnotized by the sight…only coming to her senses when she realized with a start that Jake was among the figures forming a semi-circle before the fire, hackles raised, teeth bared as they faced the vampire.

"Jake," she'd whispered, desperation like a cold fist in her gut. She couldn't bear it if she lost him, too. She'd sucked in a breath, gaze darting over the dark shapes of the wolves, determined to act. But before she could move, one of the wolves was leaping through the air—Paul, she's almost certain. He'd never been one to wait for Sam's orders.

Only another wolf clipped him in mid-air, a gasp of shock bursting past her lips at the sight. She'd raised a hand as if to intervene, as if she could somehow influence what was happening before her—the two wolves, snarling and grappling on the ground, the semi-circle of the pack snapping and growling in turn, confusion and tension like a fog in the night air.

Nothing could have prepared her for what happened next. One of the wolves peeled away from the twist and spin of the fight, heedless of the teeth snapping at his tail, flinging himself at the silent, motionless vampire. Leah had jerked up her hands to cover her eyes, uncertain she could stand to see the carnage, however deserved.

Only, instead of hearing the baying and barking grow in intensity as the wolves eviscerated the vampire, the beach had fallen eerily silent. Slowly, holding her breath, she had reluctantly dropped her hands, frightened of what she might see. Leah blinked slowly, shaking her head, as if the motion would dispel the scene before her.

The wolf that had tackled the vampire did not rip and tear at the prone figure, rending him limb from limb. No, the wolf was crouched over the fallen vampire, a protective cage, eyes aglow as he growled and snarled at the semi-circle of stunned Quileutes.

The name escaped her lips as a question, desperate for any of the other wolves to turn around and meet her gaze. "Jake?" But none of the shaggy figures turned, glancing back to her reassuringly. Instead, the black eyes of the wolf protecting the prone vampire flicked her way before returning to the semi-circle of his tribesmen.

Leah stares down at her hands, at the nails gnawed raw over the course of the night that Jake had stood in defiance of his pack leader, of his tribe, a lone figure refusing to let the vampire come to an end. The standoff had lasted hours, some of the wolves phasing back into their human form to try to reason with Jake; Paul had angrily tossed piles of driftwood on the fire, determined to burn the vampire to ashes, even if that meant hurting Jake. Sam and Leah had intervened then, trying to reason with them both. But as the night wore on, it became clear that killing the vampire would mean killing Jake, too.

Leah shakes her head, blinking back fresh tears. She'd wanted to refuse Jake's request to bring the vampire to her house, to stamp her feet and smack his face and blaze at him for his incredible behavior. But he'd been weary and drained, his arm protective around the bloodsucker's shoulders. "Billy wouldn't understand. Please. Just for a few hours until Edward can be on his way."

_Edward_. Her lip curls, wishing she could block out the conversation he and the awful creature have been having since the sun had begun to peek over the horizon. "I swear to you, man. Didn't you see…?"

"In your thoughts, yes." The vampire's voice is curt, his dark eyes sinking shut—as if those thoughts pained him.

Leah thinks back, recalling Bella's expression moments ago when she'd encountered the pale girl down on the beach. Jake wasn't wrong—Bella's red-rimmed eyes and drawn features were clear evidence of her inner turmoil.

"Can't you echolocate and figure out where she is or something?"

But Edward has fallen silent and Leah looks up to see his black eyes, unnatural and discomfiting, fixed eerily on her face.

"I may not have to," he speaks softly, an undercurrent of threat beneath the words.

"What do you mean?" Jake asks, his own gaze trained on the third cup of coffee he's had that morning. When Edward doesn't respond, his eyes rise and to find Leah squirming beneath the vampire's scrutiny, her expression defiant. He glances to Edward, then back to Leah before speaking, his voice hard, "Did you see Bella? Is she here, in town?"

"What if I did?" Leah snaps, furious at his questioning.

"Why didn't you tell us she was here?" Jake demands, slamming his mug onto the counter. Anger vibrates through his entire frame, muscles tensed as he faces her.

"Haven't you done enough damage, Jake?" Leah blazes back, all of the anger and confusion of the previous night spilling forth, hands flung up in frustration. She had only wanted to see the pathetic girl gone, certain she was at the heart of all of this trouble and strife. "Haven't you already done enough?"

"Goddamnit, Leah, where is she?"

Leah's voice is a shout, hands thrust in her hair. "You're really going to take their side?"

But Edward is already gone, a flit of movement neither of them see leave, darting from the chair at the kitchen table, through the house and out onto the cool morning air, his figure a blur through the still-empty streets.

Could Jake be right? Could she have returned to Forks in pursuit of him? Edward almost doesn't see the winding roads before him, the beach fixed in his mind like a beacon. Desperation clenches in his chest, doubt hovering at the back of his thoughts even now. But she'd left, she'd run away as he'd always suspected she would.

Yet…Edward thinks of the images Jake had held in his mind as the wolf's hot breath warmed his face, the furred body protectively crouched over his own. Bella, in tears from the moment she'd gotten in the truck to return to Forks. Her gaze, turned hopefully to the road whenever they'd stopped for gas. Her words, breathless with restrained tears, _"__And just get in deeper and deeper until I don't know how to go on without him? I'm already in too deep."_

It was the only thing that had kept him from throwing the wolf off, frozen and focused on these memories, these images of Bella, his Bella, just as lost as he was without her. He'd been unable to understand the barks and snarls exchanged by the wolves, but he could read in Jake's thoughts his insistence on sticking to the treaty, on not killing anyone who'd done the Quileutes no harm. _For you have done no harm to us,_ Jake thinks before his mind shifts back to Bella, to the exhausted sadness of her expression after he'd dropped her off at her father's house upon returning to Forks. _And she needs you, man. That much I know._

Edward is nearly to the beach when his ears pick up a strange sound, nearly muted by the pulse and roar of the ocean tide, his brow furrowing as he tries to place the faint clatter and ring. It is only when he's raced down the steep path to the shore that he spies the cell phone vibrating against the pebbles of the rocky shore, only feet from the black ring of the extinguished pyre.

Edward scans the beach and water as he races towards the buzzing phone, stooping to retrieve it as he continues to look for Bella, desperate to see her, desperate to know for sure…is Jake right? Did she leave out of fear of rejection rather than fear of what he is? But where is she?

"Edward! Edward!" He blinks in confusion as he hears Alice's voice through the abandoned phone, frantic and utterly panicked. "Edward, she's going to jump! Edward…oh, God, Edward! She would have waited for you—" The words are a breathless wail. "She would have waited for you to change your mind and make her like us, or be human forever—anything to be with you!" Her voice is breathless, the words speeding out so quickly they form only a desperate keen. "Oh, God, don't let it be too late!"

Anyone awake at that hour, in that lonely foggy place, would have been forgiven for thinking they were seeing things. How else to explain the pale youth, clothes still damp, hair a wild tangle, who appeared so suddenly on the rocky shore, features intent and watchful? Or how quickly he simply disappeared, an apparition snapping out of the ether like a ghost, here and then gone.

His body cuts through the water like a bullet, Alice's final words before he'd dropped the phone echoing in his ears. "_The cliffs! The cliffs!_" He can feel her panic and grief despite the thousands of miles of distance between them, her voice a cry for the loss of Bella. His Bella.

He pushes the unnatural limits of his body harder than he ever has before, determined to reach the cliffs before what Alice has seen comes to pass, to be there to catch her when she falls. The current is nothing against his limbs, the heavy push and pull of the tides as mild as a breeze as he cuts through the waves, gaze fixed upon the distant shadow before him—the sheer rise of the cliff face, an underwater monolith.

Lips sealed, he peers through the murk, the weak northwest sun dimmed even further beneath the weight of the water. The gloom is made eerie by the dance of the waves above, the little light available refracting and shimmering through the blue green sea. Despite this shadowed light, despite the churn of the waves directly above, water white and frothing where it crashes against the rocks, his eyes cannot miss the pale figure, still yards away, gently drifting beneath the surface. Edward's eyes widen, desperate for it to be someone else, for it to be a hallucination brought on by thirst and melancholy…but the slender figure turns, a weightless dancer spun by invisible currents, and the cloud of chocolate hair concealing her features shifts, revealing the still oval of Bella's face.

Edward's mouth opens with a soundless cry, limbs straining, striving to reach her side, desperation and fear like a cold rock in his stomach. He is upon her in seconds, arms wrapped around her waist, surging to the surface. "Bella!" he gasps, certain he'll hear the shocked sputtering for air that indicates she's taking a breath…

But her body is limp in his arms, too limp, like a doll neglectfully broken. His hands shake as he treads water, desperate to keep her above the froth of the waves, struggling to push the tangle of her hair away from her face. "Bella…" Her name emerges as a sob as he sees the blue of her lips, her skin nearly as cool as his own. He pulls her close and can feel the many points where her bones have broken, memory briefly sucking him back to those last sputtering breaths of another dying girl, another innocent, blood bubbling on her lips as she laid in the snow.

Edward pushes away the remembrance, determined Bella will not have the same end. He searches for the beat of her heart—either a flutter against his chest, steady and strong, or a pulse in his ears, comforting and magnetic. He is senseless of the toss and pull of the waves around them, his own breath silent in his chest as he waits, desperate for that single sound.

The weakest beat sounds against his chest, so slight he isn't certain at first that he imagined it, if it isn't simply the desperate hallucination of a mind driven mad by the thought of losing her. He _can't _lose her…

"_She would have waited for you to change your mind and make her like us, or be human forever—anything to be with you…"_

His eyes sink shut as he buries his face in the wet tangle of her hair, cradling her close. The delayed beat of her sluggish heart sounds again but it is weaker than before, his body growing cold with the knowledge that there is no time, certain that he will lose her, the hospital too far, her injuries too severe…

"_And just get in deeper and deeper until I don't know how to go on without him?_" The desperation and sorrow in her voice had been evident even in Jacob's memories. "_I'm already in too deep."_

His body shakes as he holds her close, quiet sobs lost against the pound of the waves. She had tried to leave, had tried to let him go knowing her heart would only break…but clearly it had been too late. She had been unable to stay away. If Alice was right, if Jake's memories are true, she had been willing to live as he wished, even if that meant dying slowly at his side…

"_I would have you no other way_."

That had been his choice, his wish. But what had she wanted? What did she long for, desires hidden behind dark eyes, her mind ever silent to him? He inhales her scent, nose flush against the skin of her cheek, his silent heart breaking…

_And she needs you, man. That much I know._

Could it be true? In this moment, there is no way to know. Edward shakes his head, tormented, desperate for answers. Her heart beats, so weak, the flutter of a dying bird, cradled to his chest. He shakes his head again, realizing the only thing he knows for certain is that he cannot watch her go, he cannot let her drift away like this, broken and lost. He has to trust that she knew her heart and that she'd meant all she said.

"_I belong with you."_

As he opens his mouth, lips gentle against the tender flesh of her throat, he remembers her brave leap, her confident swan dive from the window high above, face lifted to the sky, certain he would catch her fall.


	39. interlude

You guys make my day. Thank you for all your words. I appreciate it.

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><p><em>At the side of the everlasting why, is a yes, and a yes, and a yes.<em>

_A Room with a View_

**interlude**

She is surrounded by white. Gleaming white floors, blank white walls, and high ceilings punctuated with panels of glass that look up to white skies. Abandoned counters along one wall face glass doors on another, the space echoing and lofty, but somehow not unwelcoming.

SeaTac terminal, she thinks. But unlike any instance in which she's been there before, the enormous building is empty of people, the floors bereft of scuff marks, the walls naked of advertisements, the street beyond the doors miraculously free of the snarled traffic usually jockeying for the curb.

Bella turns, the faintest frown furrowing her brow. She must have forgotten a trip, some destination she booked without recalling the date of the departure. She looks down to her empty hands, trying to recall if she's checked her bags.

But she has to go to the gate first. This much she remembers. She begins to walk towards the corridor that she knows will lead to the gates but has only taken a few steps when her mind fills with the image of something forgotten.

"Edward," she whispers. She can't go without Edward. He couldn't possibly understand if she left him again, not after how much she had hurt him by leaving before. She turns, looking for him, then smiles with relief when she sees him near the exit doors.

"Edward!" she cries, running to him. She hesitates as she reaches his side, wondering if he's angry with her for having left, hopeful that he'll understand. She exhales when he smiles ever so gently and takes her into his arms.

Filled with relief, she returns his embrace, all of the tension and confusion she'd been feeling draining away at his touch. "Oh, Edward," she sighs, holding him as tightly as her muscles will allow. The smell of the him is so sweet, the cool feeling of his skin so familiar, that she wonders how she could ever have thought she could be without him.

"It was a mistake," she whispers against his chest. "I never should have left. I'm sorry. So sorry."

But he says nothing in return, only holding her silently. She looks up to see his response but his expression is simply sorrowful and resigned. "I'm sorry," she repeats, longing for him to believe her, certain that if she can only find the right words, he'll understand. "I'm so sorry."

But she does not hear his response. Instead, her ears pick up the faint crackle and snap of a sound she cannot first place. She turns her head, craning her neck, reluctant to leave the circle of Edward's arms—and gasps as she sees the terminal has somehow caught fire.

"Edward!" she exclaims, turning back to face him, her hands gripping his forearms tightly. "We have to go! We have to get out of here!" She glances over her shoulder to see the flames climbing towards the ceiling, the glow of red and orange hellishly washing over everything. "Now!"

Though Edward's arms loosen their grasp around her waist, he does not move, his gaze indescribably sad as he watches her tug at his wrists and shove at his shoulders, trying to get him to move towards the exit doors only yards away. She's certain her tight grip around his wrists would bruise him if such a thing were possible.

But he is as unmovable and silent as stone, all of her shoving and pushing and pulling utterly useless. She can feel tears pricking her eyes that he will not come with her, that he is not trying to escape the flames inching ever closer.

"Edward!" she cries. "We can't stay here." For isn't fire the one thing that can harm him? Isn't that the one thing she was supposed to stop him from doing to destroy himself?

She can feel the heat, the snap and spit of the fire sounding in her ears. "Edward, please, we have to go. We have to get out of here," she pleads. "You're not invincible, remember?" There are tears in her eyes as she gazes up at him, looking for any change in his expression.

But he has somehow only grown more sorrowful, amber eyes full of torment.

She sucks in a breath and draws close to him, the words a whisper against his chest. "Oh, Edward…"

For she knows now it is no use, that he will not move, and she cannot leave him. She clings to him and is relieved to feel his arms circle around her once again, fiercely holding her tight, ever protective. Bella tucks her face against his throat, breathing in the scent of him, taking refuge in his embrace as the fire consumes them.


	40. The World Was Made

One more chapter after this. Thanks for reading and all of your reviews.

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><p><em>"When I think of what life is, and how seldom love is answered by love; it is one of the moments for which the world was made."<em>

_A Room with a View_

**thirty eight**

It is a sea of green, towering conifers crowding close, drooping boughs draped in soft moss, the ground coated in a mix of clover, curling fern fronds, and fallen pine needles. The very air seems tinted with the verdant color, the sky nearly lost against the tangle of branches and tree tops above, the clearing shadowed, cool, and silent.

The bowed figure of the young man is a pale mark in this ocean of evergreens, the pallor of his skin apparent even in the shadows of the bowed trees. Were it not for this stark contrast in hue, white and ghostly against the rich green of the surrounding woods, it would be difficult determining that he is not of the forest, silent and still.

For he is unmoving, a watchful statue carved in the palest stone, mournful and unspeaking, crimson eyes fixed. His attention has not wavered over the many hours he has been crouched beneath the swaying boughs, the intensity of his expression belying the stillness of his frame.

But it is no fallen fawn that has so captured his attention, throat torn open and red, brown eyes glassy and unseeing. No, it is not his prey that has rendered him silent and immobile, filled with the self-loathing and anger he so often feels at the reality of what he is. No, it is no fawn, brown pelt soft and dusky against the green of moss and clover—it is the supine figure of a pale woman, chestnut hair curling and tangled among the bracken and grass, white hands limp at her sides, lashes dark against her cheeks.

Like him, her clothes are rumpled—as if once drenched, the garments had been allowed to dry upon her frame. She, too, is unnaturally pale, her skin the whitest ivory bereft of the violet-blue tint of delicate veins or the rose pink blush of blood in her cheeks. Her brows are inky above closed eyes, her chest failing to rise and fall with the movement of breath.

Though she does not move, though she does not breathe, to his ears the last frantic beats of her heart are as loud as a pounding drum. It is a torment and a comfort all at once, his mind filled with the memories of how often he had listened for that sound. In her tiny office, the acceleration of her pulse had so many times been his only indication of her internal feelings, always speeding and slowing at the wrong moments, ever unafraid of him. In the dense woods surrounding the lodge, it had been his compass, guiding him back home after patrolling or hunting had taken him away from her, his feet silently counting the paces until that beat became audible.

He stifles a shudder as he recalls the day he could not hear her, when he had drawn close enough to the lodge that panic had begun to take hold, fear warring with optimism in his heart. Even as he'd pictured the worst scenarios, he'd tried to tell himself his ears were somehow deceiving him…or perhaps impulse had spirited her away again, hopefully this time with a companion to keep her safe. But as he reached the familiar house and found he still could not hear her, he couldn't help his rising desperation as he'd come upon Irina and saw she was unable to meet his gaze…before she'd handed him the note that had destroyed all his hopes. It had taken all of his restraint not to tear down the lodge around his ears, unable to bear the realization that Bella would never again be waiting for him, soft, warm, and alive.

Impossibly, the erratic pounding of her heart only increases in speed, like the invisible blur of hummingbird wings, a near buzz to his ears. Crashing higher and faster, her heart spurs on, pushed to unnatural limits in these last seconds of her life.

And then all is abruptly silent. For the first time in days, his once frozen figure shifts, features crumpling as he falls to his knees at her side. "Bella," he whispers, gaze fixed on her still features in desperation. But she does not respond and he realizes, for all of the guilt he's felt over the past few days in the silence of the forest, he won't be able to stand it if the venom failed to take hold. Finally, no longer able to watch the unchanging stillness of her features, he buries his face in her lap.

He does not know how much time passes, simply inhaling the scent of her, gasping for needless air, hands twisting in the dirt beneath them. It is only when he feels the touch of soft fingers against the nape of his neck that he grows still again, frozen at the sensation of her unhesitating touch.

"Edward…oh, Edward." Her voice is a song and a recrimination all at once, for she sounds so wonderfully the same, his beloved Bella…and yet also so very different. He cannot believe that she is returned to him, that she is here, with him beneath the trees, all he could ever want. And yet her voice is richer, softer, sweeter…changed.

"Edward," she whispers, her voice a plea. "I'm so sorry. So very sorry." His body goes rigidly still, muscles like stone, unable to believe the words she's speaking. How can she apologize to him? How can she ask for his forgiveness? Slowly, his expression one of torment and shock, he lifts his head.

It is only then that he realizes. She has sat upright, clover and bracken caught in her tresses, one pale hand draped over his nape. Her beautiful features, soft with love and hope, slowly grow confused as her eyes meet his. It is then that he knows that she doesn't understand…or doesn't remember…or perhaps a mixture of both. For when she absorbs the crimson of his gaze, he can see the truth begin to take hold.

"Edward…?" His name is a question on her lips, one pale hand drifting up to his face before abruptly falling away.

"Bella," he responds, his voice beseeching. "I'm so sorry."

She can't help her disorientation, his words echoing the apology she'd been trying to convey…but not here, not in this remote clearing among hushed trees…but somewhere else, somewhere white and airy…yet the memory is like smoke, wisping out of her grasp as she struggles to focus on it. Had it been a dream? "Edward…" she whispers, fear curling in her gut. "I don't understand…"

As she loses her grasp on the tendril of memory, another takes its place, her eyes widening as she recalls a location more solid, more real than that dream-like inbetween. The park had been nearly empty, the bench covered in the scrawl of graffiti, the sound and smells of the city falling away as Edward shared the tale of coming upon Alice in the lowlands of Mississippi. Instead of the smell of exhaust heavy on the air, she had imagined the damp mists of the swampy landscape. Instead of cars rushing by, she had seen the waving branches of willows and dogwoods, easily able to picture that first encounter decades before. She'd imagined the misty clearing and the black-haired girl at its center, lost, disoriented, unable to decide, her visions a tumult of two figures, one golden-eyed and at peace, the other a wanderer, a vagrant, his eyes blood red.

Edward finds he is grasping air, his chin falling to his chest as he struggles not to despair that she has run from him—for she has not gone far. He can hear her rough breathing, just beyond the circle of the trees, her lungs gasping for air she doesn't yet realize she no longer needs.

As he had done with Alice, he speaks at a normal volume, knowing she will be able to hear. "Bella," her name is a plea, his eyes trained on the ground, keeping the red of his irises concealed from her. "I won't hurt you."

The words are like a shock of cold water, Bella's eyes flaring wide as she sucks in a breath. She can't help being torn back to the dark night that she'd discovered the truth of what he is, when she had cowered in terror on the floor of her father's closet, his rifle clutched in her arms. Edward had spoken those very same words but she had been too filled with fear to listen. She had been certain she was going mad…and that if even if she were sane, her circumstances were no different, her longing for her client utterly inappropriate, her inability to connect to anyone completely unchanged. She had contemplated placing the muzzle of the rifle in her mouth, had wondered if it would be a relief, to be done, to be no more.

The cliffs. Her hands rises to her mouth, choking back a cry as she remembers. She remembers. She remembers.

She had been filled with even greater despair, unable to contemplate a life without Edward, a life in which she was at fault for bringing him to an end. She had been hysterical, unable to think, unable to breathe, stumbling from the truck in a headlong flight from the reality of her circumstances. And she had jumped.

Bella sinks to the soft earth beneath her feet, one hand braced against the tree before her, barely aware she is speaking. "I don't understand…" The words are a confused keen, her eyes sinking shut against the vivid greens of the forest, too bright for her vision to bear. "I—I jumped, didn't I?"

"Yes, Bella." Edward's response is beyond solemn and sad.

She hesitates only a moment, grasping for the memories, her brow deeply furrowed as she finds only darkness. "Did you catch me?"

"No, Bella," Edward shakes his head. "I didn't reach you in time."

Her thoughts are a whirlwind, a riot of snatched words and glimpsed images…Edward's crimson eyes…Leah's angry words, so harsh and final…the beach, blackened and scattered with torn clothes…Jake's figure, off in the distance, unresisting as Irina tackled him…Edward's tale of another human girl, broken and dying, his features unyielding as he made clear he would not change her…

Bella lifts her hands to her chest. Somewhere, she distantly notes that in any other circumstance, she would be trembling, her back damp with anxious sweat—but not now. Not ever again. As she presses her hands to the soft flesh above her left breast, her eyes sink shut, listening, listening…but hearing nothing. "Edward?"

His voice cracks, head bowed as he kneels, unmoving in the center of the clearing. "I couldn't—"

Bella is at his side in a moment, unable to absorb the shock of how quickly she is able to move in the relief of being next to him, of touching him, of knowing that somehow, this is real.

"I couldn't let you go," he whispers, his shoulders sagging as he feels the gentle touch of her hands against his hair, his nape, his cheeks. He wraps his arms around her waist, burying his face against her.

Bella is filled with a wild mixture of feelings, lips parted as she blindly gazes into the distance, holding his kneeling figure close. Shock gives way to disbelief, which falters under the reality of all she sees, vivid and impossibly detailed—as well as what she hears: the distant calls of birds, the burble of a creek far away, the quiet whisper of the wind in tree tops high above. She can smell the sea salt in their dried clothes, the overwhelming fragrance of pine sap, and the sweet, cool scent of Edward beneath it all. Confusion mixes with awe, unable to understand how Edward had survived, what Leah had meant when she'd confronted Bella on the beach, why Alice hadn't been able to see that the future had changed.

She wonders that anger or outrage isn't somehow mingled with all of these emotions, but as she presses her cheek to Edward's hair, she knows that any fault in all of this lies with her as much as with him. After all, had she not made the choice to leave? Had she not set them on this path by running away from a life with him, too afraid to let him in, too filled with fear to admit all she wanted and hoped for? Hadn't this destiny been set from the moment Margery stepped into her office and told her the troubled, intriguing client who filled her with such anticipation and dread insisted on seeing only her?

Bella closes her eyes, glorying in the silk of his hair, the smooth warmth of his skin. "Nothing could have stopped this," she murmurs. Impossibly, Edward's arms only tighten around her further.

They are silent for some time, simply holding one another close, the whisper of branches brushing against branches up above the only sound.

Edward is the first to speak, turning his head to press his cheek to her belly, his voice somber and sincere. "I was trying to tell myself it was enough," he shakes his head minutely and somehow pulls her even closer, every inch of his body flush against her own. "Every night that I held you—" Bella's eyes sink shut, remembering. They had barely spoken after the confrontation in the meadow, the silence like a lead weight dragging her down. She had first thought his appearance in their bed, silently holding her close, could only be a dream; it was only after he returned, night after night, that she realized his embrace was real. "Every night, I told myself this was enough." The words subside to a whisper, the pain of the memory evident in his voice. "I told myself it was enough to have the memory of you."

"I told myself," Edward goes on, "that this was a gift. To know you, to be with you. That I should appreciate the time we had, however short or long, for I was ridiculously fortunate to have you in my life at all." He presses his lips together, silent for a brief moment. "It was only when I realized I couldn't find the words…I couldn't figure out a way to argue that sentiment to you that I started to realize…it wasn't enough."

Bella's features crumple, longing to cry for all she had misunderstood—she had been so certain that he couldn't bring himself to tell her good-bye. She leans forward, pressing a kiss to the top of his head, taking comfort in the scent of him, the solid feeling of him beneath her hands. Her mind is still in such a whirlwind, echoing with memories, flooded with images and scents and sounds through her newly heightened senses, numb with the disbelief of her new circumstances. She closes her eyes again, trying to at least block out the riot of color overwhelming her gaze, trying to focus.

She takes a breath before speaking. "Do you remember that night, the night you came to me—and I was so afraid?" Edward nods silently, finger tips pressing through her clothes, longing to take away the fear he knew he'd engendered in her that night. "Do you remember how you said you would never hurt me?" Bella shakes her head, regret coursing through her veins for all she'd done. Hadn't she been terrified, even then, of what letting him in would do to her?

Edward speaks, the words gentle and soft. "I do."

Bella's voice cracks. "And you never did." The words flood forth, spilling from her lips with all the urgency she'd felt from the moment she'd decided to return to Alaska. "And you never did. You stayed away out of fear of hurting me that night. You told Alice to stop looking for me, trying to let me go, to give me the opportunity to move on. You defended me to Tanya," her chuckle is watery. "You _threatened_ Tanya. You stood between me and Esme—your mother for all intents and purposes." She takes another breath, the sensation cool within lungs that no longer require air to breathe. "But I hurt you. I hurt you terribly."

Her voice grows small. "I shouldn't have left, Edward. I shouldn't have left you." She shakes her head. "And I don't say that because of what followed…of what's become of me now. I say that because I hurt you for no reason other than my own fear. I hurt you because I underestimated you—I underestimated both of us."

He is shaking his head but she won't let him speak, the words coming more quickly, an emotional torrent. "How could I be so sure of what the future could hold? How could I assume your feelings were so transient? How could I dare to think that after everything we'd been through, that we couldn't figure out a way through anything else? I was wrong, Edward." She swallows, her shame and contrition like a dry fire inside. "It was arrogant and wrong and worst of all, dangerous."

Edward's grip around her waist is so tight that she knows it would hurt her where she still able to feel pain. "But Bella, how could you have known? Running from me was always the smartest thing you could do."

A note of despair enters her voice, her hands insistent where they fall to his shoulders, gripping him tightly. "How can you say that? How could I be with anyone but you?" As she says the words, she feels the truth of them, certainty washing over her like a calming wind.

But Edward is shaking his head, despair evident in his voice as he speaks, "But what you are now—"

"Do you regret it?" Bella's response is like ice, cutting him off before he can finish the thought. "This may not have been what either of us intended, but do you regret it?" She knows that days ago, she wouldn't have been able to ask the question for fear of his answer—but now, her heart silent, her skin like alabaster, her limbs full of a strength she has yet to test, she feels no fear.

Edward first shakes his head but her hands rise to his cheeks, forcing him to look up, to meet her gaze for the first time since she'd woken to this life.

"Do you regret it?" she asks again. His crimson eyes do not waiver as they rest on her own.

"No." The word is soft but certain and she sees a joy creep into his expression that reminds her so strongly of the day she'd ambushed him at his house that she can't help her own smile in response. He'd been so reluctant to accept that she could be as drawn to him as he was to her, had even then been trying to push her away.

"No." He says it again and an answering smile begins to curve over his lips before he surges to his feet and swings her into his arms so abruptly that a gasp of laughter bursts past her lips. "I wouldn't have wished it like this," his voice is a whisper against her ear, "but I can't regret it. I can't regret seeing you here, now, with me."

"Oh, Edward," she longs to tell him how tormented with worry she'd been, how certain she'd felt that she'd reach him in time, the despair that had torn her apart at the thought of living in a world without him…but his lips are on her own, fierce and silencing, and she can do nothing but kiss him back, lost in the wondrous sensation.

There is only one reason he would draw away from her now, eyes afire with all he feels for her, lips burning with the need to say one more thing, to make clear to her that for all of the misfortune that had brought them to this day, he truly feels no regret. The words are a whisper but they may as well be a shout, Bella's gaze filling with light as he speaks them.

"I would have you no other way."


	41. Together

Apologies for the length of time it took to post this final chapter. Thank you, as always, for taking the time to read and review.

* * *

><p>"<em>It is. I have reflected. It is Fate. Everything is Fate. We are flung together by Fate, drawn apart by Fate—flung together, drawn apart. The twelve winds blow us—we settle nothing—"<em>

"_You have not reflected at all," rapped the clergyman. "Let me give you a useful tip, Emerson: attribute nothing to Fate. Don't say, 'I didn't do this,' for you did it, ten to one."_

_A Room with a View_

**thirty-nine**

The rain is accompanied by a drifting fog, like two companions unwilling to be parted. The damp obscures her surroundings, the street corner seemingly isolated and lonely…until the looming figure of a double decker bus or black cab looms through the mist, a rumbling reminder of the bustling city.

Though the gray slab of pavement beneath her feet and the gray stone of the Georgian buildings rising all around are utterly dissimilar to the wild green of the Olympic peninsula, she cannot help being drawn back to another damp, misty day—the day she'd awoken to this life.

Bella's eyes fall to her feet, the waxed laces of her simple black boots and the hem of her heavy duffle coat blurring before a gaze lost to memory. Edward had encouraged her to discard her shoes, the torn soles a painful reminder of the desperate leap she'd taken from the reservation cliffs. "Besides, you'll find you run faster without them." His voice had been light, his hand firmly grasping her own, an eager tutor ready to show her his world.

At first, she hadn't been able to breathe due to fear, uncertain how her limbs were able to follow in the streaking wake of his flight. How was she failing to fall, tripping over the uneven ground or tangle of tree roots? How was she ducking the low limbs of pine and fir, or weaving between the mighty trunks of surrounding evergreens? How was any of this possible? Yet her body seemed to know instinctively how to follow in Edward's wake, the grasp of his hand firm and sure as he pulled her deeper into the mountainous woods.

"Miss? Miss? Do you need an umbrella?" The accented voice breaks into her thoughts, the memory dispelling like a dream, abruptly woken.

Bella's gaze briefly hardens as she sees the avid young man at her side, his expression undeniably interested as he peers from beneath the brim of the proffered umbrella. Though she knows she has an eternity to become accustomed to it, she doubts she'll ever get used to the attention her appearance now seems to draw. The young man seems to sense her impatience and discomfort…or perhaps, now that he has drawn close, his instincts pick up something dangerous and…off about the pale young woman standing on the corner. Bella doesn't feel any regret for the flash of something troubled she briefly sees in the young man's blue eyes. "No thank you," she replies shortly. Though she no longer fears losing control, she prefers when humans keep their distance.

Her gaze, richly amber, returns to her feet, her hands buried deep in the pockets of her duffle coat, her thoughts returning to that first day.

Her lip catches beneath her teeth as her memories snag on something unpleasant, one of the few flaws of near perfect recall. She can almost feel the kick of the animal's feet against her rib cage, the thrashing struggle of its fleecy body in her determined arms, and the rich warmth of the thick blood as it flowed over her tongue—she could be clutching its rapidly cooling form in her arms even now, on this misty city corner, the memory is so near, so detailed.

She would blush if she could, thinking how clumsy and fumbling that first kill had been, the poor mountain goat's throat roughly torn open, dark blood staining her chin and lips and shirt.

She had been unable to meet Edward's gaze, vainly trying to wipe her hands on the sparse grass of the meager clearing high above the clouds. She wasn't certain whether it was fear of the sorrow she might see in his gaze, or embarrassment at her own awkward tackle of the poor goat; her eyes sank shut at the thought of how it must have appeared to him, all flailing limbs, kicking hooves, and sad bleats.

A flit of movement preceded the touch of Edward's fingers at the line of her jaw, a tender caress, unhesitating, certain. "You should take down another," his voice was smooth, assured, untinged by any hint of regret. Bella's gaze flew to his, barely able to believe his equanimity in the face of this new reality. Was this her Edward, always so tormented and lost? "We have a long way to go and I want to be sure you're satiated," he'd continued, his explanation completely reasonable.

She had simply nodded, unaware of the irrepressible smile that was spreading over her lips—soon to be replaced by a grim look of determination as she re-focused her attention on the herd of mountain goats rapidly galloping away.

It was only after she'd taken down a second, her movements more fluid, her bite less hesitant, that it had occurred to her, her eyes briefly widening at the thought. He was no longer so tortured, somber and worried, because he had already experienced the worst loss she could have inflicted upon him. She had nearly died before his eyes, her body broken and limp, and he had thought he would lose her forever. If abandoning him had driven him to near-suicide, what could seeing her on the cusp of death have done to him? How could he be anything but light and relieved now that she was with him—when the worst loss possible had been averted?

Even now, more than four years later, she is still certain of this truth. Her gaze drifts to the road as another double decker bus lumbers into view, a gaudy video game advertisement emblazoned on its side. A few elderly women, their hair tucked beneath plastic caps to ward off the rain, step down from the bus to the street. Bella's gaze slides away as she sees they are the only passengers to disembark, her thoughts drifting back to those first few days, weeks, months.

She can smell the scent of wet pine and rich earth, recalling the mountainous forests that had been their path back to the lodge. Edward's pace had been unrelenting and she had first assumed this was due to his eagerness to return to his family. It was only when he'd abruptly dragged her from the privacy of the dark woods shadowing the rocky coast, his hand a vice around her wrist, that she'd understood he had other motives for moving so quickly. "Edward…?" His name had been a question on her lips, a frown of confusion forming on her brow.

"Campers," he'd said shortly over his shoulder. Her frown had only deepened; despite the speed with which she now moved, despite the fact that she had yet to feel any hint of weariness or exhaustion, despite the animals she'd killed to sustain herself, it was impossible to think she could be capable of hurting someone. She tries to recall the story Edward had told her of his changing, of his desperate glimpse of his mother and the thirst that had driven him nearly mad when he'd failed to hold his breath.

As if sensing her desire to protest, he'd growled, "You will not be the same around them." They were clattering over the rough rocks of the isolated beach, rapidly approaching the water.

Before she could argue, they were beneath the waves, the scent of salt and sea enveloping her, Edward's hand shifting from her wrist to thread through her fingers, gently tugging her forward. She had soon grown so distracted by the desire to hold her breath, and the realization that she no longer needed to, that fear or doubt about what she might have done was soon forgotten.

Bella's gaze grows contemplative as she curls her hands more deeply into her pockets. It is only this, the potential that she might hurt someone given how new she still is to this life, that can return Edward to the solemnity and reservation of before. It was the only thing that could threaten the quiet joy of their life back at the lodge.

They had remained in the water for what she knew must be miles, following the line of the coast until the sky darkened. Her hair grew stiff with the freezing wet soon after they emerged from the sea, but her hands did not grow chilled and her breath did not emerge in visible puffs of white before her lips. Edward paused only to plant a lingering kiss on her lips, his eyes glittering in the darkness. "We'll be there soon." She could only nod, still too absorbed in how easily she could discern the leaves and branches around them despite the gloom to fret about their pace.

Yet, when she spied the peaked roof and narrow chimneys of the lodge through the tree tops, it seemed as if a weight lifted from her shoulders, her throat tightening with unshed tears. She was entirely unsurprised to find Alice nearly vibrating with relief and excitement on the porch. For once, the dark-haired seer wasn't alone in her enthusiasm, Esme silently sobbing as she wrapped Edward and Bella in arms like steel while Irina, Tanya and Kate all exclaimed in a cacophony of questions and castigations.

"How could you think of offing yourself, you silly man!" Tanya's voice was only a little angry, and was soon drowned out by Alice's cries.

"I thought we'd lost you both!" She'd nearly lifted Bella off her feet with the strength of her embrace. "Don't you dare do that again!"

Bella had felt the familiar tug of Edward's arm sliding around her waist, his lips soft against her hair. "No chance."

Bella often found herself marveling in the following days and weeks how very much the same things were—and yet still utterly different. She still spent hours reading, or listening to the albums Tanya played, or sitting in quiet conversation with Esme while the older vampire mended Carlisle's shirts…but now she was aware of so much she had been oblivious to before: the ultrasonic call of bats high above the rafters; distinct conversations though the participants were halfway across the house; the unmistakable scent of blood when someone returned from hunting and hadn't adequately wiped their hands clean; and the strange, unceasing schedule of a life without sleep.

As time passed, she knew that though she still felt like herself—that despite the far more pale face in the mirror, crimson eyes slowly transitioning to amber—she was changing nonetheless, adapting to a life in which she never tired, in which she could continue to read long after the sun had set without turning on a light, in which she climbed the highest peaks of the surrounding mountains wearing nothing more than jeans and a sweater.

It was this that had spurred her to broach the topic of testing her tolerance—of venturing out without two people always in attendance, of questioning her constant isolation. It wasn't so much that she longed to be around people—after all, she had never needed much in terms of interaction with others. But she missed some of the normalcy of human life, whether carrying a basket through the aisles of a grocery store, or driving down roads with other cars passing by, or browsing the shelves of the library with the sound of quiet voices and shuffling pages in her ears. The lodge was a bubble, unreal and cut off.

It was one of the few times she'd wished Edward could read her thoughts, her hesitation and nervousness about raising the topic so palpable that his expression had grown instantly concerned as she fumbled for the words. Only after she'd begun to explain, "I know you trust me in everything else—and it's not that I mind…I know it isn't meant to be babysitting. But when you think about it—"

As Edward began to understand her point, Bella had felt her stomach sink at the dark cloud that began to transform his features from confusion and concern to baleful anger. "It's only been six months," he'd replied shortly.

Bella's gaze had fallen, recalling that this was the point at which Alice and Edward had once trusted Esme to be alone. "I know," she'd replied weakly. "And it's not so much that I mind the lodge but there are things I miss…"

Edward had nodded his head sharply, amber eyes sliding away from her wistful expression. Sensing his withdrawal, Bella had grabbed for his hands, forcing him to come back to her, refusing to let him recede, even if only emotionally. His gaze darted to her own with surprise, glancing down at their joined hands. "I wouldn't trade this, Edward, you must know that."

"No?" The single word was quiet and imbued with a sadness she had not sensed in him since before her change.

"No," her response was vehement, shaking her head. "Don't get me wrong," she admitted. "Every now and then I remember how amazing it was to wake up after sleeping in for hours on a lazy weekend—or—or the taste of chocolate," she added, thinking of the few things she'd longed for in their months of idle since her change. "I wouldn't trade anything if it meant losing you."

But Edward's gaze was still somber, amber eyes watchful. "Not even if you were to hurt someone?"

Bella's gaze fell from his own, struggling to find an answer. This was the central question, the reason for their return to the remote isolation of the lodge, far from any possible contact with humanity. It's a truth she could barely admit to herself—that they were no longer hiding from the wolves, or seeking protection with others like the Cullens. They were in Alaska to afford her, and to some extent, Jasper, the time to build their tolerance to the temptation of human blood.

"It just seems so…" Her voice was nearly a whisper. "So unlikely. I'm still me. I still love reading, and walking in the woods…" She paused. "And being with you."

"But you are different," Edward insisted.

"I know."

"I don't want you to live with that regret." Edward's hands tightened around her own, the words gentle.

"I know," she repeated.

But he couldn't tell her how long he thought she would need. Alice had never hurt anyone and yet Esme, gentle, loving Esme who had likely felt much the same as Bella did after she was initially changed, had killed a man given the first opportunity. And so they remained at the lodge, even after Carlisle and Esme began making preparations to leave.

Another bus hisses to a stop before the misty street corner, Bella's head jerking upright at the noise. An involuntary smile spreads over her lips as she sees the familiar figure emerge from the lumbering vehicle, her features transformed from passive beauty into glowing brilliance by the appearance of Edward.

His smile is nearly as wide, amber eyes bright as he steps down to the street and crosses to her side. Softly, his lips land upon hers, his hands pulling her own from the pocket of her coat. "How was class?" she asks, ever unable to give up the human niceties that he'd so violently disclaimed in their second meeting.

"Bearable," he replies with a soft laugh as they begin the slow walk down the street. "The professor appears to know a few things that aren't in the textbook—"

"Which you've already memorized," Bella teases.

Edward tries to protest, golden eyes wide, "I wanted to see how it had been updated since I last read it."

Bella laughs, the sound obviously a delight to Edward's ears, his smile wide, his eyes trained on her pale face.

"You didn't have to meet me at the stop, you know," he adds, swinging her hand playfully.

"I know. But I was a bit bored at the house and wanted some fresh air," she dissembles, before realizing she may as well admit her true reason for venturing out into the gray, damp day. "Besides, I wanted to see you."

Edward doesn't miss an opportunity to tease her. "I thought I was the impatient one."

Bella can only smile, her gaze growing thoughtful again as she recalls her own impatience to return to a somewhat normal life. After Carlisle had found a position in St. Albans, she and Edward had been presented with the difficult decision of remaining behind in Alaska. While she longed to go with them, and stifled twinges of wistfulness when she saw Esme begin to pack, Bella was terrified she wasn't ready—and she wasn't willing to take the risk of her fears proving correct. Asking the two Cullens to remain in Alaska was an equally impossible option; she wouldn't think of denying them returning to the routine and normalcy of the lives they'd led before the upheaval she'd brought into their existence.

Alice and Jasper began to take forays down the mountain, venturing closer and closer to Healy, testing Jasper's tolerance and practicing different strategies in response to the nearby humans. Bella found herself envying the older vampire's experience, watching them leave with lips pressed together, forcing her gaze to return to the book she was reading or the game of chess she was playing with Irina.

"Soon enough, young one," Irina had smiled as she shifted her queen across the board.

Bella nodded, struggling for the resolve.

But it was much harder to be patient after Esme and Carlisle departed for Vermont, waving from the windows of the sisters' battered Cherokee. The lodge felt so much more cold and remote without their warm, caring presence. She loved Alice like a sister, but the seer was intently focused on helping Jasper, hunting constantly, venturing nearer and nearer to humans. And though Bella had grown fond of the three sisters, and even found herself laughing with Tanya on occasion, nothing could quite match the warm humanity of the Cullens' adopted parents.

Sensing her sadness, Edward had approached her one day, his expression a mix of anxiety and excitement. Bella had struggled to smile for him, knowing he hated to see the life she led now affect her at all negatively—but it was almost as if he didn't register her response, his gaze darting restlessly around the room, his hands twitching at his sides. It was the most human she had seen him in months.

Before she could form a question, he was speaking, the words urgent. "What if I told you we could test your tolerance safely? With very little risk?"

Bella's mouth moved for several seconds, unable to think how such a thing could be possible. "What do you mean?"

"Someone's coming," Edward answered, his mouth twisting. "I can hear him though he's still some distance away."

"I should go," Bella instantly rose from her chair, the book she'd been reading falling to the floor, her muscles alive with urgency and fear.

"No, wait," Edward's hands are on her upper arms, soothing, trying to keep her from fleeing. "I don't think you'll hurt him."

But she knew that couldn't be possible, her throat was burning with involuntary anticipation even now. Without waiting to listen any further, she flung herself towards the door, unwilling to find out if she could trust herself.

As Bella reached the porch, her lips sealing shut though she longed to scent the air, to discern if anything warm and living was nearby, she stopped short upon hearing the distant crunch of feet upon gravel. Was it too late? Would she be able to stop herself?

She darted towards the trees though she could hear Edward behind her, his shout pleading, "Wait! Irina and Kate are right here! Please, Bella, wait!"

Bella hesitated, momentarily reassured by the idea that the other vampires would be able to restrain her should she fail to control her impulses—and it is all the time Edward needed to catch up to her, his arms slinging around her waist and pulling her close. His body was like a rock next to her own, just as tense, just as worried—but his voice was a soothing murmur in her ear. "Just don't breathe."

It was then that the tall figure rounded the sharp curve in the road, bringing him to the clearing leading to the lodge. Unlike the time before, he did not pause, his stride confidant, his black eyes determined.

Bella's shock was so great that she forgot everything she's been told, she forgot every human instinct to do no harm, all conscious thought wiped from her mind as her eyes grew impossibly wide and her lips parted with an audible gasp. "Jake?"

Several things happened at once: hearing his name despite the distance, Jake's lips curved into a familiar, friendly smile; Edward's arms tightened around her frame as he realized she'd done exactly what she shouldn't have by allowing herself to breathe; Bella lunged forward as the tempting scent of blood filled her senses—then abruptly sagged back, her nose violently wrinkling, as the stink of wet dog subsumed everything.

Edward's laugh sounded in her ears, filled with relief and amusement. "I told you it would be alright."

Bella doesn't even realize they've reached the car park where Edward leaves his Aston Martin every morning to avoid attracting any additional attention from his fellow students, stopping short before the passenger side door. "Oh." The gasp is quiet but Edward hears. And what's more, he knows she's been too absorbed in her thoughts to register their surroundings.

"Penny for them?"

Bella slides into the sleek leather interior of the classic car, her lips tilting with a reluctant smile. "Just wishing you weren't always right."

His laugh is loud in the confines of the car, his hands sliding from the steering wheel to her nape as he leans over to kiss her.

Bella kisses him back with all of her being, surprising herself with her sudden passion. But she can't help feeling, in that moment, in the rainy gray parking lot at the edge of town, just how lucky she is to be with him, sharing this life.

Edward leans back, amber eyes surprised before the glint of something mischievous enters his gaze. "So that's why you came into town to meet me."

Her eyes fall to her lap, a protest bubbling on her lips, knowing her cheeks would flush bright red if blood still coursed through her veins. "That wasn't why!"

"Until now," Edward laughs, turning back to the wheel and twisting the key in the ignition. "Don't worry, I can control myself enough to get us home."

Home. A small smile settles over Bella's lips as she relaxes into the seat, thinking of the little house surrounded by a low, stone wall. Wisteria trails over the door, tangling in the shutters that cover the two front windows. Through the leaded glass panes one can see the milk glass lamps Bella bought at a Sunday flea market; they give off a warm yellow glow in the evening, perfect by which to read—though neither she or Edward require the light.

The drive to Killearn passes quickly, far more quickly than the hours Bella had spent traversing the Scottish countryside by bus and train to reach the misty street corner where she had waited for Edward to appear. The few midday commuters had largely left her alone, only one small child on the train cringing close to her mother as they passed Bella's seated figure. Bella had listened closely for any words of fright, anything that might make the mother suspect—but the child had simply whimpered and Bella had relaxed with relief.

Though they are foreigners in this place, and though they are far stranger than any foreigner the locals might have ever encountered, this has largely been their experience since relocating from St. Albans. They pass their days in the little cottage on the outskirts of town, building fires in the fireplace grate when the evenings grow cold, turning on the lights when the sun sets, and turning them off at a reasonable hour—all of the normal activities of an unremarkable couple spending a year abroad.

Edward attends classes at St. Andrews, commuting over the narrow highways in his sleek silver car, while Bella remains at home, reading, tending the garden with skills she picked up from Esme, and heating up useless kettles of hot water as a means of forcing herself to go inside. Like reminding herself to fidget and blink, it is a practice she undertakes to reassure the people around her that she is like them, that she is not some tireless automaton immune to the cold, in no need of sustenance.

Jake's smile had faltered at seeing her so transformed, a small, pale figure held back by Edward's straining arms: first, lunging for him like some rabid, snarling animal, then rearing back, nearly gagging at the canine smell of him.

"Bella?" The sad uncertainty of his voice was perhaps the only thing that could make her regain her senses, shaking her head, teeth clenching as she struggled for calm.

It felt like an eternity but she knew only seconds had passed before she managed to respond. "It's me, Jake."

"Are you okay?" He looked around the clearing before taking another cautious step forward. Bella glanced in the same direction and saw Irina and Kate standing warily on the porch, legs bent, hands raised, ready to leap forward should Edward be unable to restrain her.

"Yeah," she admitted after a long moment. Her voice was a hiss as she whispered to Edward, "You never told me the wolves smelled!"

"I didn't think I'd have to," Edward wryly replied.

None of them had ever thought to encounter the wolves again, certain that returning the peninsula would be foolhardy at best, and suicide at worst. After Edward had shared how exactly he had survived that long night at the bonfire, Bella had insisted on finding out a way to express her thanks to Jake. "If it weren't for him, neither one of us would be here."

Edward had nodded. "I know." He'd paused. "But the wolves' senses are in some ways as keen as ours. He might be able to detect the difference in your voice should you call—"

Bella had nodded, understanding instantly. While Jake had saved Edward, would his empathy allow him to understand Bella becoming a vampire? Could his surprising open-mindedness extend to accepting Bella as a cold, deadly creature, the sworn enemy of his people? It had seemed too risky to chance and so she had sent a letter instead, trying to capture in words how grateful she was to him for acting as he had. She had never thought that, months later, that same letter would bring Jake to her doorstep.

"I had a feeling…" Jake began, his dark eyes watchful, as if knowing Bella had, if only for a moment, wanted to kill him. His eyes shifted to Edward, his expression inscrutable. "Did you do it?"

Bella realized the tension locking her muscles was not mirrored in Edward's frame, his arms loose around her waist, his breath gentle against her hair. She glanced up to see him nod once, a brief flash of sadness crossing his features. "She would have died otherwise."

Jake nodded in turn, his black eyes briefly dropping to the ground. It suddenly occurred to Bella that Edward was not worried because he could read Jake's thoughts, he knew Jake meant no harm—and had perhaps come to terms already with what Bella had become.

His gaze had risen, a familiar half-grin crossing his lips. "Bunch of freaks—me included." Bella couldn't help her own smile in turn—though she was not yet sure what Jake meant.

She soon came to find out he'd essentially been exiled from living among the Quileutes. While he may not have been asked to leave, and would likely always think of the reservation as home, the cold treatment he'd received since the night he'd rescued Edward had never abated.

"You guys have food in this place?" he'd asked as they'd all finally relaxed enough to welcome him into the lodge.

"A bit left over from when Bella was still human," Kate explained.

Jake's gaze flashed in Bella's direction and she detected the briefest hint of regret there before his smile slid back into place. "Thank God."

As they settled into the main room, he went on to describe how even his friends had ignored him, refusing to take his calls, always giving excuses whenever he tried to see them. "Even my dad is…different," Jake admitted as he bit into a sandwich. "It's like he see through me, like I'm not there."

The room was silent for a long moment before Edward finally spoke. "I'm sorry for your loss."

Jake shrugged, lips twisting. "Me, too. I think the only reason I didn't follow right after you guys was because I kept think it'd get better—that they'd get over it and move on." He shrugs again. "I got your letter and the idea occurred to me—I didn't have to stay. I figured I'd come see you," his gaze flashed to Bella again and she fought off the twinge of sadness she felt at the realization that it was difficult for him to look at her. "Make sure you were okay, then head to Hawaii."

"Where your sister lives," Bella quietly finished.

Jake nodded. "I hope that's okay."

"Of course it is," Edward swiftly replied. "You will always be welcome among us."

Jake's visit allowed Bella to not only thank him in person, but, as Edward had suspected, it allowed her to safely test her tolerance. Not only was the temptation of Jake's blood incredibly weakened by the strong scent of dog that her senses now detected, but he was strong enough that should she ever somehow lose control, he'd be able to defend himself. She was sorry when he finally chose to go, knowing it would likely be the last time she would ever see him.

Edward lessened her sadness, however, by declaring that they should now begin to further test her limits. A few months later, they were soon set to join Carlisle and Esme in St. Albans.

Out of habit, Bella sheds her coat and moves through the living room towards the small, bright kitchen, her hands assured as she picks up the kettle and begins filling it with water from the tap. She listens as Edward does the same, her ears picking up the sound of his heavy coat settling onto one of the Queen Anne chairs before his feet follow her path, the tap of his shoes on worn hard wood floors transitioning to a softer thud on bare linoleum.

"I love that you still do this." There is a smile in his voice as his hands settle on her shoulders, fingers briefly running through the chestnut length of her hair.

Bella's responding smile is small and knowing. "You think it's silly." She twists the dial that ignites the burner, turning to face him with shining eyes. "My human habits."

Edward shakes his head, teeth flashing behind his lips. "I love your human habits." He pauses. "You were human when we met."

Bella ducks her head, "I know." She has often fought the feeling that he would prefer her to have remained as she was. She has told herself again and again that he loves her as she is, that it could have worked out no other way—and usually, her reasoning overcomes her fears.

She turns back to the kettle as it begins to steam, shifting it off the burner before reaching into the cupboard above the stove to grab a mug and carton of peppermint tea. She had explained to Edward that of all the teas available at the local market in Killearn, it's the only one that still smells something like what she remembers—rather than acrid and bitter to her too-sensitive nose. She pours the hot water over the tea bag and grasps the mug in hands she knows will cool its contents before too long.

She raises her eyes from the amber water to find Edward watching her, his gaze appraising. "Do you miss the warmth?"

Bella's lips tilt but there is sadness in her smile as she realizes that Edward is sometimes plagued by fears, too. She raises a hand, pressing her now warm palm to his cheek. As she does so, a dozen memories flash through her mind: reaching out to take back the pen he'd retrieved from the air, his hand snapping away before her fingers could make contact with his skin; the too brief support of his grip after she'd stumbled on the steps of the Clallam County courthouse; his cool hands pressing to her own as she hunched over in her office, tormented by the realization that their attraction to each other was now out in the open; the unhesitating touch of her hands to his jaw after they'd escaped the Quileutes, filled with the realization that she belonged with him.

"Do you miss my warmth?"

Edward does not hesitate, shaking his head sharply before lifting his hands to grasp her own.

While Edward had been relieved to re-join his family for a brief time, he longed to show Bella the things they'd only spoken of in Chicago. Though logically he knew they had all the time in the world, he couldn't help the urgency he felt after everything had been nearly lost.

The other Cullens have visited, Jasper enduring the long flight with Alice, Esme and Carlisle at his side. The small cottage was filled with laughter and conversation for the entirety of their stay, the fire stoked high, the lights left on as they all talked long into the night. It had not even occurred to Bella to ask Alice if the future held any hint of trouble, for she could not imagine her life being anything but joy with Edward at her side.

The tea is forgotten on the table as Edward leads her to the bedroom; the curtains are rarely drawn back from the windows, the light gray and dim. He takes off her clothing slowly, a torment given how fast she knows he can move, her gaze pleading as he trails kisses over the bare expanses of skin he slowly reveals.

She has never grown accustomed to the heightened sensitivity she feels at his touch, the hint of moistness on his lips, the feather light flutter of his fingertips against her skin, the rich, heady scent of him. Bella's breath quickens, another human habit never fully forgotten, hands dragging at his shirt and trousers, pulling him close, drinking in the taste of him.

They are on the bed in a flash of movement, Edward's body covering her own, amber eyes intent as he gazes down upon her upturned face. Silently, he takes her wrist, bringing her still-warm palm to his lips. His lips move against the sensitive skin there, barely a murmur, for her ears alone. "I love you as you are."

Bella flings her arms around him, a gasp of happiness and relief escaping her mouth as she buries her lips against his throat. Her heart is full with the realization that he can read her so well, that he can reassure her when they had once been so distant from each other, when they had once so misunderstood one another.

"I love you. I love you. I love you." The words are a litany against his skin, her eyes sinking shut as he pulls her remaining clothes from her body and his own, flesh against flesh, lost in each other. Her breath catches in her throat as her eyes open, caught in the intensity of his stare—his expression is one of such adoration and need, bare to her gaze.

"I love you."

It is some time before their bodies grow still, but they do not disentangle themselves, pale limbs wrapped around one another upon the rumpled blankets and sheets. Even after the light fades, the room darkening from gray to black, they do not move, her human habit of even breathing matched by his own steady breaths, contented.


End file.
